


Where You Lead, I Will Follow

by lovetheblazer



Series: The Nurse!Darren 'Verse [2]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, CrissColfer Big Bang, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Professionals, Minor Character Death, Nurses & Nursing, crisscolfer, mild PTSD, nurse!darren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetheblazer/pseuds/lovetheblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is in the hospital for minor surgery and Darren is his extremely chatty recovery room nurse. As Chris recovers from surgery, he's also slowly falling in love with the cutest nurse on the Upper East Side. But nothing about Darren's job is easy, and with time, they're finding they both need one another in ways they never anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Illustration](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/140693) by Mari. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic would not exist without my amazing beta and constant cheerleader [Sam](http://ticklishblaine.tumblr.com/) and my fellow CCBB authors with whom I've spent countless hours word warring over the past few months. Major thanks are also in order to [Mari](http://greninjaaaa.tumblr.com/), the artist I was paired with for this challenge. Her [gorgeous art](http://greninjaaaa.tumblr.com/post/128068804510/my-ccbb-art-colaboration-for-lovetheblazers) is better than I could have ever imagined and it deserves to be appreciated :) I'm also in debt to [Lindsey](http://controlofwhatido.tumblr.com/), the CCBB moderator, for taking on the herculean task of keeping everyone organized and on track. And finally, I want to thank everyone who read the first story in the nurse!Darren verse who subtly (and not so subtly) hinted that it was a story they wanted me to continue.

“Oh good, you're finally up! I need your help,” Chris chirps as Ashley stirs and sits up.

Ashley takes a second to stretch and rub her eyes. “Well good morning, aren't you chipper today?” she smiles at Chris. “Feeling better?”

“A bit, yeah,” Chris nods. “At least mentally, if not physically.”

“I'm glad.” Ashley leans forward and squeezes his shoulder, looking relieved. “So what do you need my help with?”

“Um, so I kinda have a date in an hour?” Chris blushes.

“What? You're kidding me. Who with?” Ashley gasps.

“Darren,” Chris replies. When Ashley's face shows no sign of recognition, he adds, "my nurse from last night. The guy I was telling you about, remember?"

"Oh my god," she squeals. "That's amazing. How did you manage to track him down so quickly?"

"I didn't have to. He put his number in my wallet. I found it right after you went back to sleep last night," Chris grins.

"See, what did I tell you?” Ashley tweaks Chris's nose affectionately. “You're a catch and he was smart enough to not let you slip through his fingers, thankfully."

"Thank god,” Chris breathes, still a little dizzy with relief and nervous excitement in equal measure. “But he'll be here at 8 and we're going to go down to the cafeteria to get breakfast and I'd  _really_  like to not look like the Night of the Living Dead when I do.”

“Of course,” Ashley nods. She looks Chris over carefully. “We've got our work cut out for us, but don't worry, boo. I've got you covered.”

* * *

Darren arrives right on schedule at 8 AM. “Knock, knock,” he calls as he walks through the open threshold to Chris's hospital room.

Chris can't help the way his heartbeat speeds up as he lays eyes on Darren. He looks every bit as gorgeous as he remembered. He's dressed in the same blue scrub pants but instead of a scrub top, he's wearing a long-sleeved heather grey henley t-shirt that's unbuttoned just enough to show the slightest hint of chest hair. And damn, Chris didn't even know that was a  _thing_  for him until now. Darren's hair is still damp from the shower and even though it's early in the morning, there's the same hint of stubble. Darren's grinning widely and Chris feels woozy with the want that floods through him.

“Hi,” Darren breathes, his eyes locked with Chris's.

“Hi,” Chris echoes. After a moment, he reluctantly tears his gaze away from Darren's sparkling eyes and that's when he first notices that Darren is carrying a large Mylar Ninja Turtle balloon.

“Oh my god,” Chris giggles, “is that Donatello?”

“Fuck yes, it is,” Darren nods approvingly. “I took a leap of faith that you'd be a Ninja Turtle aficionado like me.”

“Good guess,” Chris smiles.

Darren walks over to Chris's bed. He quickly ties the balloon to the bed rail so it won't float away and then he's leaning over and enveloping Chris in the warmest hug he's ever received.

“Hi,” Darren repeats, rubbing Chris's back a little. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Chris whispers into Darren's shoulder, inhaling the intoxicating blend of Darren's coconut shampoo and musky aftershave and something spicy that he can't identify as anything other than  _Darren_. He's reluctant to let go so he lets Darren be the first to pull away.

When they finally part, Darren notices Ashley sitting on the couch, watching them both with great interest. “Hello there,” he greets her, walking around the bed to shake her hand. “I'm Darren. You're Ashley, right?”

She nods. “It's great to see you again. Thanks for taking  _such_  good care of Chris for me yesterday.”

Chris flushes at the slightly teasing lilt to her voice. He quickly shoots her a look that says ' _beat it_ ' as clearly as any words can. Thankfully, she takes the hint.

“I was just getting ready to head out to find a Starbucks to grab some coffee and hopefully get a little work done, so I guess I'll leave you boys to it. Chris, just call me if you get back to the room and I'm not here yet, okay?” Ashley requests.

“Sure, of course, Ash. Thanks,” he agrees, waving as she grabs her messenger bag and exits the room.

Darren circles the bed again so he can fiddle with the balloon. “The gift shop was running low,” he explains. “So it was either this or Twilight Sparkle from My Little Pony.”

“I think you made the right call.”

“Phew, me too,” Darren feigns dramatic relief. “It was a tough decision, but thankfully I was up to the challenge. First I'd like to thank the Academy, for nominating me for this great honor,” Darren picks up a hand sanitizer dispenser from the table, cradling it in one hand like a trophy. “Second, I'd like to thank the rocking cartoons of the eighties and nineties for inspiring this balloon design.”

Chris breaks off into helpless peals of laughter, which has the unfortunate side effect of reigniting the burn in his side. "Ow, don't make me laugh," he grimaces.

Darren's face goes serious in an instant. "Sorry," he apologizes, covering Chris's hand with his. “Just breathe, nice and slow,” he encourages.

"'S'okay," Chris reassures him once he's able to draw a breath.

"You know there actually is a trick for laughing or coughing or sneezing without popping your stitches or feeling like your insides are trying to escape.”

"Oh yeah? Enlighten me." Chris is all ears.

Darren retrieves an extra pillow from the couch. "It's your right side that's bothering you the most, right?" he confirms. Chris nods. Darren carefully lays the pillow parallel along Chris's right side and then he gently lifts his arm so that it rests atop the pillow. “Think of it like a mini-splint,” he starts to explain. “Basically anytime you need to laugh or sit up or do anything that will engage your abdominal muscles, you hug the pillow to your stomach to cushion the blow.”

“Huh.”

“Did that make any sense?” Darren asks. “A lot of times I don't.” Then after a pause, “Make sense, I mean. See, I'm doing it right now.” He blushes, seeming more nervous than Chris remembered him being last night

“No, it did make sense. I'm just kinda wondering why I didn't think of it earlier to be honest.”

“Well, if you had all the answers, I'd be out of job,” Darren chuckles. He reaches out and strokes Chris's upper arm. “Do you think you're feeling up to a trip downstairs for breakfast? I don't want you to overdo it so if you're too sore and tired, I can always have some food brought up here for us,” Darren offers.

“No, I'm very ready to get out of here. Starting to go a little stir crazy at the moment,” Chris admits.

“Okay,” Darren nods. “I'll be right back then. Don't move.”

Chris frowns but does as he's told, watching as Darren briefly disappears out of his hospital room. Seconds later, he's returning with an empty wheelchair. Darren carefully pushes it over to the side of the bed nearest Chris. “Your chariot awaits," he says.

Chris shakes his head a little. “Soooo not necessary.”

“I beg to differ,” Darren's voice is gentle but firm.

“They didn't operate on my legs, dummy,” Chris scoffs.

“Humor me, please?” Darren fixes him with a pleading look that weakens his resolve.

Chris sighs and reaches for Darren's hand, allowing himself to be guided into a standing position. Chris keeps the pillow tucked underneath his right elbow and against his side, and to his great relief, it lessens the soreness of straining to a get up. “See? I'm standing up all by myself,” he gestures triumphantly. Chris is actually feeling enormously lightheaded and shaky, but he breathes deeply and takes several tentative steps, not wanting Darren to see him as completely weak and helpless.

“Very impressive,” Darren congratulates, while sliding an arm around Chris's waist to keep him steady. “But c'mon, let's be real. If that's your standard pace, the cafeteria is going to be serving lunch by the time we get down there.”

“Fine,” Chris huffs, too exhausted for further argument. He lets Darren gently steer him towards the wheelchair and help him sit down.

“Do you want shoes or slippers or something?” Darren asks, looking down at his bare feet.

“Uh, I have no idea where my tennis shoes are and I didn't bring any slippers with me. Whoops?” Chris shrugs.

“Wait, you mean you haven't been making use of our swanky amenities?” Darren looks flabbergasted. “Every patient gets slippers.” He pulls open the drawer in the nightstand by the bed and immediately produces a small clear plastic sack containing what look to be thick sky blue socks.

“These things are surprisingly comfortable," he tells Chris as he tears open the package. “I totally have a stash at home for when my feet are extra cold or for when it's been a little too long since laundry day and I run out of regular socks. Best part is they have slip guards on the bottom which is a blessing if you are as accident-prone as I am.”

Chris shakes his head fondly. “Do your supervisors know you are stealing patient slippers? How would they feel about finding out that one of their nurses is a dirty, dirty thief?”

“I won't tell if you won't,” Darren stage whispers. Then before Chris can react or stop him, Darren's dropping to his knees in front of him.

He picks up his foot and starts to slide on a slipper. “Jesus, your feet are freezing. Are you cold?” Darren asks.

“Maybe a little,” Chris blushes, feeling embarrassed that Darren is dressing him like a small child.

“This could totally be our Cinderella moment,” Darren jokes as he starts to slide the other slipper on, humming 'A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes' to himself.

“A really sad, depressing version of Cinderella, maybe. Subtract one glass slipper and add a hospital slipper. Instead of a handsome prince, I get a nurse.”

“Hey,” Darren pouts, “are you saying I'm not handsome?”

“No, I didn't say that,” Chris grins. “It's okay, I'm not exactly up to the Cinderella after her fairy godmother pretties her up standard of beauty myself right now.”

Darren scoffs. “Dude, you look pretty damn good for someone who had surgery yesterday.”

“I feel like that's a fairly low bar,” Chris protests. “But thank you nonetheless.”

Darren frowns and narrows his eyes a little but doesn't say anything. Chris wonders what he's thinking. He also can't help but notice just how damn good Darren looks on his knees. He shakes his head slightly, trying to clear the lewd thought. It is way too early in the morning to already be perving on Darren, especially on what amounts to a first date and a very weird one at that.

Darren hops to his feet. “Since you are cold...” he introduces, while untying a black cotton hoodie from around his waist.

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” Chris murmurs shyly, even as Darren drapes his jacket over Chris’ shoulders.

“Of course I do,” Darren interrupts. “What kind of nurse would I be if I let my favorite patient catch hypothermia or pneumonia under my watchful eye?”

“Arms in,” Darren prompts, obviously pretty committed to the whole dressing Chris thing. Even though Chris knows he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, there’s something strangely soothing about the way Darren takes care of him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“But what if you get cold?” Chris objects weakly.

“That almost never happens. I run pretty hot, even in this freezer we call a hospital. See?” Darren demonstrates by reaching out and pressing the back of his hand to Chris’s cheek.

Chris leans into the touch appreciatively, noting the contrast in temperatures. “Mmm so warm,” he mumbles.

“Exactly,” Darren chuckles. He looks down at the sleeves of his hoodie which stop a good six inches above Chris's wrists. “I guess you’re a little taller than me.”

“Just a tad,” Chris smirks.

“You don’t have to rub in it,” Darren pouts comically.

“Hey, at least I didn’t call you a hobbit. Not out loud anyway,” Chris teases.

“You were thinking it pretty loudly though,” Darren jokes back. He rolls up the sleeves on the hoodie so they are just below Chris’ elbows. “That’s the best I can do on short notice. Warmer?” he asks.

“Much, thank you,” Chris says gratefully.

“Then you're all set,” Darren announces as he hops to his feet. “Ready for your grand tour of the hospital cafeteria?”

Chris nods, “Drive, Jeeves.”

* * *

“Didn't you just pass the elevator?

“That's the patient elevator.” Darren holds up the hospital keycard hanging from a lanyard around his neck. “But since I've got this here key to the Emerald City, we don't have to confine ourselves to that. Besides, I know a shortcut.”

“If you say so,” Chris shakes his head fondly.

“Sorry, there's a bit of a bump here,” Darren warns as he carefully steers the wheelchair into a large elevator at the far end of the hall. The wheelchair jolts slightly as Darren pushes it over the threshold and into the elevator. Chris clutches the pillow on his lap against his side which helps, but there's still a quick flash of pain. “Okay?” Darren asks, reaching down to squeeze Chris's shoulder.

“Yes,” Chris breathes, shooting Darren what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

They are blessedly the only people on the elevator so Darren sets the brake on the wheelchair and walks around to the front so he can see Chris's face, stooping until they are at eye level. “You promise you'll tell me if you start not feeling well, right? I don't want to do anything that's going to make you worse or your nurse is going to have my ass.”

“I thought  _you_  were my nurse,” Chris says. Darren's grin lights up his whole face.

“I meant the one who is assigned to your room,” he chuckles. “But yes, I called dibs on you first so she can't have you.”

“She's like sixty and a woman. Don't think you have a lot of competition,” Chris mumbles, starting to feel exhausted from the lack of sleep and vast number of medications he assumes are still in his system. He tries to lean his head against the back of the wheelchair but the angle makes it uncomfortable and he can feel the tugging at his incisions as he arches his back.

Darren watches Chris try to find a comfortable position to rest his head and stands, walking to the side of the wheelchair and throwing an arm around Chris's shoulder so he can rest his head on Darren's hip. The position should be awkward, but Chris is too worn out to find it in him to care. He likes being close to Darren too much to let his pride get in the way anyways.

“Tired?” Darren murmurs, rubbing his neck a little.

“Not exactly,” Chris says, because he doubts he could sleep right now even if he was laying in bed. “My head's just kinda... spinny.”

“Probably from not eating for twenty-four hours along with all the meds they've got you on,” Darren acknowledges. “Hopefully breakfast will help.”

As if on cue, the elevator comes to rest on the first floor, the doors opening with a quiet ding. Darren reluctantly extricates himself from Chris and pushes his wheelchair down the hall.

Chris finds himself overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who greet Darren as he walks down the hallway towards the cafeteria. It seems like everyone they encounter, from doctors to nurses to janitors to administrative staff, wants to exchange a high five or kind word with Darren. It doesn't surprise Chris to know that Darren is well-liked, but as someone who struggles to make friends easily, the volume of friends and acquaintances that Darren has acquired is still baffling.

When they arrive in the cafeteria, the same situation repeats itself. Although this time, Darren's not just being greeted but he's also hooked up with special favors and treats. The barista at the coffee cart already has Darren's regular order on standby without him having to ask. They get to bypass the line at the breakfast grill where Darren gets waffles that aren't even on the menu and extra bacon.

“Did your surgeon say what your recommended diet should look like for the next week or so?” Darren asks him, scrutinizing the menu.

“Small, frequent meals of bland, low-fat foods,” Chris replies, wrinkling his nose a little.

“Yeah, that's what I figured. How do eggs and toast sound? Or we could do a bagel or english muffin instead of toast if you'd prefer.”

Chris pretends to pout. “I assume chocolate chip pancakes with extra whipped cream are out of the question?” he asks, mostly kidding.

“Uh yeah, as your personal nurse, can't say I'd recommend that for your first meal, unless you wanted to throw up or be doubled over in pain for the rest of the day?” Darren looks like he wants to laugh, but he's not sure if Chris is being serious or not.

“Hard pass.”

“Okay, so eggs and toast?” Darren prompts.

“Let's do an english muffin instead of toast,” Chris decides, hoping that it will scratch his sore throat less than toast.

“How do you like your eggs?” Darren asks.

“Isn't that supposed to be a pick-up line?” Chris can't help but tease.

“Yes, of course, this is all part of my ruse to get you into bed with me.” Darren shakes his head, “Too bad you saw through my utterly transparent plan.”

“What can I say? I'm smart that way,” Chris shrugs. “And scrambled, to answer your question.”

“Coming right up,” Darren says with an exaggerated curtsy. He turns to the woman running the grill and repeats Chris's order and less than two minutes later, he's accepting another styrofoam container. Chris feels a little guilty when he looks at the growing line of doctors, nurses, and patients who have clearly been waiting much longer than they have.

Darren hands the two containers to Chris to hold on his lap so that he has his hands free to push the wheelchair. They walk towards the line for the cashier. Darren signals the elderly woman who is working the cash register and points to the two containers in Chris's lap. She grins and waves him through the line.

“Don't we need to pay?” Chris asks as Darren steers him around the people waiting.

“Nah, we're good. Betty owes me a favor. Several actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Chris teases, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Darren snorts. “Not like that, get your mind out of the gutter. It's a long story.”

“And I've got all day…” Chris points out.

“Hang on, let's get you situated first and then we can have story time. Cool?” Chris nods his assent.

Darren pulls up his wheelchair to an empty booth tucked away in a quiet alcove in the back of the cafeteria. Chris wonders if he's attempting to stay out of sight in case his supervisors happened to come down to the cafeteria. After all, Darren did say that giving Chris his number was against the rules. What would they think if they saw the two of them eating together? He makes a mental note to ask Darren about it once he's eaten.

Darren takes the containers of food from Chris's lap and sets them on the table. Then he reaches for Chris, wrapping an arm around his back and offering his hand to help Chris get to his feet. “Don't forget to keep the pillow against your incision when you stand,” he reminds him.

Chris tucks the pillow under his arm, keeping it splinted against his right side. He takes a deep breath and then allows himself to be hauled into a standing position. It hurts enough to take his breath away and he can feel himself swaying but can't seem to regain his balance. But Darren is there as usual, steadying him through it and getting him tucked into the booth before Chris is even aware of what's happening.

Instead of walking around to his side of the booth, Darren stands by Chris for at least another minute, rubbing at where Chris's shoulder and neck join, a constant, calming pressure that helps anchor him while he breathes through the pain. Eventually, the spots at the corners of his vision start to clear and Chris looks up at Darren. “I'm okay,” he promises him. “Thanks.

Darren smiles, squeezing his shoulder one last time before he slides into the booth across from him. Chris misses the warmth of his touch almost immediately. Darren opens the first container of food. “This is yours,” he says as he passes it over to Chris. Then, he hands him a plastic wrapped packet of utensils and a bottled water.

“Okay, back to your earlier question - Betty just finds me cute and... charming, I guess? She says I remind her of her grandson who incidentally is gay. She kept asking if we'd met before and I finally had to explain to her that all gay guys don't know each other. We don't hold regular meetings with a secret handshake or anything, you know?” Darren shrugs.

“Uh, speak for yourself. I've already been inducted into the secret society for gay men. I'd show you our handshake, but then I'd have to kill you,” he tells Darren with a wry grin.

“Rude,” Darren acts aggrieved. “I guess maybe I wasn't invited to join since I'm bi, not a perfect gold star gay," he says, rolling his eyes.

Chris is somewhat surprised by this revelation but tries not to let it show on his face. Instead, he flashes what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

Darren smiles back tentatively. “But yeah, that's why Betty likes me. I guess that really wasn't a particularly long story, huh?”

“I was about to say...” Chris needles. He takes a swig of his water, debating how much to pry. "So, you're bi?" he finally asks, trying for casual.

“Yes,” Darren answers warily, seeming to hold his breath. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” Chris assures him automatically, frowning. “I'm just curious to know more about you. Why would you think I’d have a problem with that?”

“I've dated other guys who've wound up having an issue with it. Girls too, come to think of it,” Darren explains. “Sometimes they'd act cool about it at the start, but they never seemed to want a seriously relationship with me. I guess they figured I'd be more likely to cheat since I was attracted to everyone?” he shrugs ruefully.

“That's so shitty,” Chris shakes his head. “I don't get that at all.”

“Yeah well, me either. I've just learned the hard way that sometimes what people say and what they do don't really match up when it comes to their support of bisexuals,” he sighs.

“Lucky for you, I'm not one of those people,” Chris insists.

Darren nods gratefully. “I never thought you would be for the record, I just... wanted to get that conversation out of the way early, I guess? Seemed safer that way.”

“Glad I passed your first test,” Chris smiles.

“With flying colors,” Darren beams back. They both sit there for a very long, charged moment, just grinning at one another like idiots. Eventually, Darren looks away, reaching down for his cup of coffee.

Chris pouts as he watches Daren take a big sip of it. “Is there a problem?” Darren laughs softly.

“I want coffee,” Chris whines. “It smells so good.”

“As I'm sure your surgeon told you, caffeine can irritate your stomach which is the last thing you need after surgery,” Darren points out scoldingly.

“I won't tell if you won't?” Chris attempts, flashing Darren his cutest smile.

“Nice try,” Darren laughs. “But I'm not  _that_  easily manipulated.”

“Right,” Chris huffs. “You've just charmed every single person in this hospital into doing your bidding instead?”

Darren blushes. “Not  _every_  single person.”

Chris looks down at his eggs and english muffin. They smell good and he's definitely hungry, but he still feels a little uneasy about eating when his stomach is so sore and churning slightly. “So, who isn't charmed by you then?” he wants to know.

Darren digs into his waffles with gusto, leaving behind a tiny smear of whipped cream on his upper lip. Chris finds himself wanting to lick it off.

“Well, Nurse Ratched up on the sixth floor isn't exactly a fan. I thought maybe I was starting to wear her down, but it turns out she's been slowly building up an immunity to iocaine powder this whole time,” he says, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Iocaine powder?” Chris says quizzically.

Darren is visibly taken aback. “You're kidding, right? The Princess Bride? Only one of the best movies of the last decade.”

Chris hasn't seen the movie so he can only shrug.

“Who even are you? I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore,” Darren pretends to be horrified.

Chris feigns indignation. “Hey, we all have gaps in our pop culture knowledge. Yours was Doctor Who. Mine is The Princess Bride.”

“Well, at least I fixed that by watching Doctor Who already. We need to rectify this at once!” Darren strokes his stubbled chin as if in serious thought. “I wonder if I told my charge nurse I needed the day off for an emergency screening of The Princess Bride if she'd let me count it as a sick day.”

Chris shakes his head with bemusement. “I highly doubt that.”

Darren sighs dramatically. “Normally I'd be inclined to listen to you since you seem wise beyond your years, but now that I know you've never seen one of the top 100 movies ever made, I'm starting to seriously question your judgement.”

Chris just rolls his eyes and takes another bite of eggs, inwardly pleading with his stomach to cooperate.

“Are there other secrets you need to get off your chest?” Darren continues. “Do you also hate sunshine and rainbows and kittens? Is kicking puppies one of your hobbies? Seriously man, speak now or forever hold your piece.”

“Uh, don't you think it's a little soon to bring up our wedding vows?” Chris banters back. “I expect to be wooed first. If you want to get in my pants, you better come correct and put a ring on it first.”

Darren starts humming 'Single Ladies.' “Are you actually trying to convince me that you are saving yourself for marriage? Because that just might be a deal breaker for me," he jokes

"Oh please, I'm saving myself for Tom Hardy, not marriage."

“Ooh,” Darren's obviously intrigued. “Does that mean he's on your freebies list?

"My what list?" Chris is confused.

“You know, your freebies list. The list of five people that are hot and unattainable enough that you're allowed to cheat on your partner if given the chance to bone one of them,” Darren explains.

"Oh, gotcha. And yes, he totally would be."

"Nice, good selection. Who else?" Darren bites into what Chris could swear is at least his sixth strip of bacon. Meanwhile, Chris has managed to eat a grand total of three bites of scrambled egg and nibble on the corner of his english muffin. Even that tiny amount of food has him feeling a bit queasy.

“Hmm, that's a hard question,” Chris thinks for a moment. “Off the top of my head: Adam Levine, Matt Bomer, Ricky Martin, and... Colin Firth.”

“Huh, all good choices, but isn't Colin Firth a little old?”

Chris shrugs. “So? He may not be a spring chicken anymore but he's totally still got it.”

“I don't disagree. I just think he's a little old for you,” Darren teases.

“Age is just a number, baby. Besides, I like older men.”

Darren's face lights up like a small child's on Christmas morning. “Oh you do, do you? Lucky me. How old are you again?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Score, that means I'm robbing the cradle. It'll be nice to go ahead and get my midlife crisis out of the way a little early,” Darren says enthusiastically with no trace of irony.

Chris shakes his head fondly. “How old are you, Grandpa?”

“Just turned thirty a month ago. Does that make you horny, baby?” Darren purrs, giving his best Austin Powers impression.

“Yes, because a four year age difference is such a shocking and rare thing for me. It's also a huge aphrodisiac,” Chris shoots back.

“Glad to hear it," Darren gamely plays along. "I look forward to you becoming my trophy husband and gentleman of leisure."

“Sounds amazing. Where do I sign up?”

“On the marriage certificate, I would assume?” Darren guesses.

“That'll probably have to wait until at least date number two,” Chris chuckles. The minute movement jostles his tender side and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Chris?” Darren's peering at him intensely. Chris momentarily ignores Darren in favor of inhaling a deep breath and letting it out slowly while he rubs at his stomach.

Darren reaches across the table and covers his hand with his own, giving it a quick squeeze. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Chris murmurs softly, growing a bit frustrated with the state of his body and how it seems to have a knack for interrupting his time with Darren.

“That wasn't super convincing,” Darren remarks gently.

He takes another deep breath and sits up a little straighter, relieved when the new position seems to dull the soreness. “No seriously, I am. I just need to remember not to laugh.”

“I would make a joke about how funny I am and how I wasn't sure if it would be possible for me to tone down my natural hilarity, but that would sort of defeat the goal of not making you laugh,” Darren comments.

“A bit, yes,” Chris agrees. He waits for Darren to let go of his hand, but instead Darren just strokes his thumb across his knuckles. Chris wonders again about the possibility of being seen and what that would mean for Darren.

“Can I ask you a question?” Chris finally introduces, watching with bemusement while Darren uses his free hand to snag another strip of bacon, shoving the entire piece in his mouth at once.

“Of course,” Darren replies. “Ask away.”

“What happens if someone who works on your floor sees us looking this... cozy?” Chris queries, gesturing towards their intertwined hands.

“Uh, hadn't given it a ton of thought, to be honest,” Darren admits. “I guess I would tell them that we met before you were my patient?”

“And that would make it okay?” Chris prods.

“Well, I still don't think they'd be thrilled but it happens - more than you'd think, honestly. I mean it's not like we're having sex on the lunch table, we're just holding hands, you know?”

“So, the odds of you losing your job because of me are low?” Chris confirms.

“Very, unless you decided to call up the nursing board to report me yourself.”

“Good, I would feel bad if you got fired because of me. Mainly because aside from your tendency to bring up blow jobs in awkward conversation, you are actually a pretty good nurse,” Chris admits.

“You think so?” Darren smirks, pretending to buff his nails on his scrub top.

“Yes, but don't let it go to your head,” Chris rolls his eyes.

“Too late.” Darren glances over at Chris's mostly full carton of food. “You need to eat.”

“I would need my hand back for that,” Chris remarks.

“Whoops, my bad,” Darren blushes, releasing his hand with one final squeeze. “Didn't realize I was inadvertently starving you. Now eat up.”

Chris looks down at his food with a sigh. He knows he should eat more, but it just sounds so incredibly unappealing. He reluctantly stabs a forkful of eggs and turns his attention back to Darren.

“What time does your shift start?”

Darren consults his watch. “9:30, so we've got another hour.”

“Score,” Chris mumbles.

“I was thinking we should probably get you back in bed sooner than that,” he adds. “This is a long time to be sitting up for someone who had surgery yesterday.”

“So far so good,” Chris points out, though he's getting sorer with each passing moment. Still, that's bothering him less than the way his stomach is reacting to the meager amount of food he's attempted to eat so far.

“I'd prefer to keep it that way though,” Darren tells him. “I promised your nurse that I would return you in one piece.”

“Plus, Ashley would kick your ass if I came back in less than mint condition,” Chris adds with snort.

“She could probably take me,” Darren laughs.

“Oh, she  _totally_  could. You wouldn't stand a chance against her.”

“Duly noted. I'll have to be on my best behavior then,” Darren swears.

Chris feels his stomach lurch unpleasantly. He drops his fork and takes several shallow breaths, praying for the nausea to pass. The last thing he wants is to have to go back to his room prematurely or worse yet, to throw up on Darren. He can feel Darren staring at him so he forces his cheeriest smile and tries to think of a question that will get Darren talking and give him some time to regain his composure.

“So since then is essentially a first date, we should do the official first date convo thing. You start.”

“That would require a question,” Darren points out.

“Oh um... how'd you decide on nursing for your career?” Chris inquires.

“You know, you already asked me that once last night, but I guess you were pretty drugged up at the time so you probably don't remember,” Darren mentions conversationally.

“Did I? Yeah, drawing a blank,” Chris feigns amnesia, though he remembers a brief conversation about Darren wanting to help people yesterday. He's starting to sweat with how sick he feels and the scent of Darren's coffee, which smelled so enticing only moments ago, is now turning his stomach. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up.

“Well, I've always liked people. That and music were my main passions. Still are, I guess. But at a certain point, I realized I'd either need to really hustle if I was going to try to make music my career and settle in for a hard and bumpy life on the road or find something else to channel my passion into and let music just be my hobby, My biggest fear was always that if I let music be my full-time career, I'd grow to resent it and it would start to feel like just another  _job_ , you know? I didn't want that,” Darren starts to explain.

Chris nods to encourage him to continue, resting his cheek on his fist.

“So, I started thinking about what else I could see myself doing that would also have decent career security and pay. I decided I wanted to do something where I could feel like I was making a difference and really helping people in one way or another. I knew I didn't have the commitment and patience to be a doctor, so that just left nursing, psychology, or social work. But as I'm sure you've already put together, I blurt things out way too frequently to be a therapist or social worker. I'd get myself kicked out of a program for something like that in week, tops,” he chuckles.

“Ah yes, your blurtitis. That would have been a disaster,” Chris manages.

“An amusing disaster, I'm sure, but a disaster nonetheless,” Darren agrees. “So yeah, I had started leaning towards that career path and then my grandmother got really sick my sophomore year of college. My parents flew her from the Philippines to the States after she was diagnosed with cancer so she could get the best treatment. I spent a summer basically sleeping on the couch in her hospital room and making friends with her nurses because they were the only people under the age of seventy around. And they were really cool people and I just looked at them and thought yeah, I think I could do this. So I did.”

“Were they able to cure your grandmother?” Chris asks.

Darren shakes his head ruefully. “No, she died about nine months after the diagnosis. She had advanced esophageal cancer, so it was always a long shot. But the hospice staff were really great. She died comfortably in her sleep, and I think that's more than she would have gotten had she stayed in her country. Not that the Philippines is some third world country, because it isn't at all. She just happened to live in a tiny village there and refused to be stuck in the hospital in the nearest major city by herself for weeks or months on end.”

“At least here she had you?” Chris says.

“Exactly, plus my brother and parents on and off. I'm not sure how much good I was to her, but I did what I could. I tried to cheer her up. I brought in my guitar and would play music for her. She was a big Beatles fan, so I'd play songs from their albums and she'd sing along when she was feeling up to it. I really only left the hospital to fetch milkshakes or anything else that sounded appetizing to her because it was hard for her to eat. She lost a ton of weight and she was tiny enough to begin with so we were always trying to fatten her up. And there was no way that we were going to manage that task on hospital food alone, because it's not exactly super appealing.” Darren leans forward, craning his neck to see inside Chris's carton of food. “Obviously you're aware that hospital food isn't the best, judging by how little you've eaten. The eggs weren't good? Do you want me to go get you something else to try?” he offers.

Chris barely suppresses a shudder at the thought of trying to choke down more food. “No thanks, I'm fine. The eggs aren't bad. I guess I just don't have much of an appetite yet?” he shrugs his shoulders, trying for casual.

“That's pretty common after surgery,” Darren replies knowingly. “But you've got to eat at least a little,” he encourages.

Against his better judgment, Chris picks up the english muffin and takes a miniscule bite. It feels like sandpaper going down and he winces as it scrapes his raw throat.

“You okay?” Darren asks with a frown. “Your throat?”

“Yes,” Chris nods. “And I'm fine, it's just sore.”

Darren picks up the styrofoam cup he has sitting on the table next to his coffee and passes it over to Chris. “It's just ice,” he explains. “It'll help numb your throat a little.”

Chris accepts the cup from him hesitantly and takes off the lid.

“Worried I might have cooties?” Darren teases.

“Oh, I assumed your cootie status was a given,” Chris jokes back weakly. “I mean you work in a hospital – I bet you have all sorts of exotic germs.”

“Excuse you,” Darren pouts. “I'll have you know I'm healthy as a horse. I've got a pretty ironclad immune system at this point.”

Chris fishes an ice cube out of Darren's cup with his plastic spoon. He sucks on, grateful when it does seem to lessen the burn in his throat. When he looks up, Darren's watching him closely.

Darren smiles shyly at him. “Better?”

“A bit, yes,” Chris mumbles around the ice cube. “Thanks.” He exhales slowly, but then his stomach lurches again, worse than before. He knew trying to eat the english muffin was a bad idea.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Darren presses, looking him over carefully.

“Mhm,” Chris hums in reply because he's a little worried he'll throw up if he opens his mouth. Darren doesn't look convinced. “Just tired,” he adds after a pause.

Darren reaches across the table and covers his hand with Chris's for the second time this morning. Chris curls his fingers around Darren's hand gratefully. Even though he feels a little like dying, there's still a momentary frisson of pleasure from Darren touching him. He doesn't know if he's ever met someone that he had this much chemistry with, whose casual touches felt so electric.

“So, how'd you end up landing on working in the recovery room?” Chris prompts after a moment of comfortable silence.

“They had an opening,” Darren shrugs. “When I was in nursing school, we had to rotate and work in a lot of different departments to get experience. I was pretty open to working wherever aside from a specialized placements that would have required additional training, like the NICU, ICU, or ER. After what happened with my grandmother, I'd been considering doing hospice work, though typically that means working offsite at a private facility, not a hospital.”

“Why didn't you?” Chris wonders aloud.

“I wasn't sure if I was emotionally equipped to handle it, to be honest. In most placements, you aren't going to have patients dying on you on a daily basis, you know? It's a relatively rare occurrence in the recovery room, for example. But that's basically the job at a hospice. Your job is as much to help the patient's family members through the impending death of a loved one as it is to make your patient comfortable. I just wasn't sure if I had what it took to do that full-time, basically,” he tells Chris.

“I couldn't even imagine doing that. It seems like an incredibly hard job. I bet you would have been good at it, though I'm sure it would take its toll on anyone, even a super upbeat and cheerful guy like you.”

“And that's what I kind of thought too. It's pretty selfish of me to admit it, but I didn't want a job that had the ability to change my life in such a substantial way. I didn't want to become bitter and jaded or burnt out at my career by the age of thirty, you know?” Darren admits with more than a hint of shame.

“I don't think that's selfish at all. It just means you know your own limits and what you can take,” Chris reassures Darren.

“Well thanks,” Darren grins. “Anyway, I did my training externships during nursing school at this hospital, primarily, and had positive evaluations from my supervisors so I knew I stood a good chance of getting offered a job when I graduated. We had to rank our preferred departments and the recovery room was second on my list so that's where I wound up.”

“What was number one?” Chris asks curiously.

“Pediatrics, actually. I like kids a lot. But they really wanted someone who had more experience working in a pediatric placement prior to starting in their department, so they went with someone who'd worked at NYU in Pediatrics for a few years already.”

“I bet you're great with kids,” Chris says, smiling at the mental image of Darren tucking a sick kid into bed and pulling silly faces to make him or her laugh.

“I like them and they seem to dig me for the most part,” Darren replies modestly. “My brother and his wife just had their first kid about six months ago, so I get to play Uncle Darren most weekends.”

“Nice. They live close by?”

“Yeah. Well, Brooklyn, so I guess it depends on your definition of close. It's all relative, but my niece is cute enough to more than make up for the forty minute subway ride it takes to get there,” Darren says fondly.

“I bet,” Chris agrees.

“Sorry, I feel like I've been doing all the talking so far on this date,” Darren apologizes. “It's your turn now.”

“No, you really haven't,” Chris lies. He's barely managing to keep his stomach from revolting as it is and the last thing he needs is the added pressure to make conversation. He knows he really should just tell Darren he's not feeling well and head upstairs to bed, but Chris is really enjoying his date with Darren and getting to know more about him. Nausea and pain seems like a fair tradeoff for a date with one of the cutest and most interesting people he's met in years.

“You're a big fat liar, Christopher,” Darren taunts, sticking his tongue out. “A cute liar, but a liar nonetheless.”

“Hey now,” Chris pouts. “No need to get nasty.”

“I said you were cute. Doesn't that cancel out the liar part?” Darren quizzes, quirking up one eyebrow.

“Nope, nice try though.” Chris keeps his eyes on Darren while he surreptitiously rubs at his sore incision under the table. He swears he can literally feel his stomach churning against his hand and it takes considerable willpower to suppress a whimper.

“Seriously though, I want to know more about you,” Darren prods.

“There's not much to tell. I don't have that interesting a life story, I'm afraid.”

“That's not true at all. If it's about you, it's interesting as far as I'm concerned,” Darren insists.

Chris doesn't trust his ability to speak so he just makes a noncommittal noise and shakes his head.

Darren doesn't seem to like that much at all. “We seriously need to work on your confidence, man. Time for a totally unsolicited pep talk,” he begins and then launches into some long-winded discussion about all the things he likes about Chris already.

Chris finds himself only half listening, because while he's flattered, he really can't concentrate on anything other than how shitty he feels any longer. He lets his head flop against the back of the booth and takes several shallow breaths. It doesn't help nearly as much as he needs it to.

Darren must notice how much he's rambling or maybe he becomes aware of how checked out Chris is because he trails off mid-rant. When he looks up at him, his face falls as he instantly senses that something is wrong.

“Chris, what is it? Are you in pain?” he asks urgently.

“No, not really,” Chris answers. He's pretty sore, but not in a way that demands his immediate attention.

“Then what?” Darren presses with a concerned expression.

“I don't think trying to eat was a very good idea,” he admits. He pushes away his half-eaten container of eggs and an english muffin with a quiet groan because the mere sight of food is making his stomach feel that much worse.

“You're nauseous?”

“Very nauseous all of the sudden,” Chris sighs. “It just snuck up on me,” he adds before Darren can scold him for not saying something sooner. It's not really the truth but it's close enough.

“Do you want me to take you back to your room so you can lay down?” Darren offers immediately, though Chris swears he detects a tiny bit of hesitance. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking with how much Chris doesn't want their date to be over.

“Not really,” he answers truthfully.

Darren looks torn. He spends a few seconds just looking Chris over before he asks, “Do you think you're  _actually_  going to throw up?”

“I...” Chris trails off, considering. He focuses on taking a couple of deep breaths in and out, grateful when he feels marginally better once he does. "No, I don't think so,” he eventually replies.

“That's good,” Darren says as rises of his chair and walks around to the side of the booth where Chris is sitting. He perches in the small amount of space between Chris and the edge of the booth. It's  _close_  so Darren's knee & shoulder wind up pressed up against him. Chris doesn't mind the contact as it helps ground him and lessens the dizziness marginally.

Darren slides one hand up the length of Chris's spine to the back of his neck and rubs gently. Chris exhales shakily and leans in to Darren's touch. “Let's go back upstairs, okay?” he murmurs. “I think you'll feel a lot better when you don't have to be upright anymore.”

“Okay,” Chris sighs, feeling a little defeated. He knows Darren's right, he just... wishes he weren't.

“Good,” Darren nods.

Chris expects Darren to get up immediately so they can head upstairs, but he makes no move for at least another couple of minutes. Chris finds himself getting woozier and woozier, until eventually he gives up on dignity altogether in favor of letting his head slump to Darren's shoulder.

That seems to shake Darren out of his silent reverie. “Sorry, shit, we should probably...” he trails off, blushing.

Chris's eyes are closed so he can't be 100% sure but he feels Darren press what he thinks is a kiss to his hair before he stands. He maneuvers around Chris, infinitely careful that he doesn't jar his body as he climbs to his feet.

Darren peers down at Chris, frowning a little. “Are you always this pale?” he asks, stroking his thumb across Chris's cheek.

“Um, probably? I'd say translucent bordering on Casper the Friendly Ghost white is my standard skin tone.”

Darren chuckles softly. “It might be the lighting down here too. You just look a little paler than I remember you being last night, that's all. Ready to stand up now?”

“Not really,” Chris grumbles. “But there's no time like the present, I guess?”

“I'll do most of the heavy lifting,” Darren promises.

“ _Heavy_  lifting – are you saying I'm fat?” Chris teases, sticking out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

“You're perfect,” Darren insists. “And c'mon, man, we already talked about this. Confidence.”

“I wasn't really paying attention to your pep talk,” Chris admits. “Kinda distracted by trying not to puke on you.”

“No kidding,” Darren shakes his head fondly. “Let's see what we can do about getting you upstairs and fixing that, hmm?” He offers Chris his hand and helps tug him to a standing position. Chris lets out an involuntary groan at the flash of pain in his side and the way the room starts to swirl unpleasantly.

“Hey shh, it's okay,” Darren soothes, bending his knees to take on more of Chris's weight. “We don't have far to go,” he encourages as he helps Chris pivot until he can sit down in the wheelchair.

Chris clutches a fistful of the pillow on his lap once he's seated again, needing something to ground him until the room stops spinning. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to draw a deep breath, rubbing at his side.

He's not expecting the sensation of a warm hand covering his. “Chris? Can you look at me for a second?” Darren requests in a low voice.

Chris nods shakily and opens his eyes. He's startled by how close Darren is, hovering in front of him with wide, concerned eyes. “Hi,” Chris says.

“Hi,” Darren responds with a tentative smile. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris answers automatically. Darren doesn't seem wholly convinced. “No, I am. It's better now,” he adds. “Moving's just not much fun.”

“I'm sure it's not. I'm glad you're feeling a little better now, though.” Chris knows he means what he says because he can literally see the relief written all over Darren's face. He squeezes Chris's hand once before he releases it. “The good news is that I was smart enough to insist on the wheelchair earlier so you can just sit there and look pretty, okay?”

“I'll do my best.” Chris starts to giggle, then immediately thinks better of it when it makes his already sore incisions ache even more.

Chris feels a little exposed as Darren maneuvers them through the now bustling cafeteria. Even though Darren doesn't seem too worried about being seen or getting in trouble for dating one of his patients, it's not in his nature not to be concerned about it, just because Darren thinks it'll  _probably_  be okay. Chris doesn't need hard confirmation to obsess over potential problems. He's had anxiety attacks over much, much less.

By the time they get to the empty elevator, it's all Chris can do to keep his eyes open. He's sore, nauseous, and practically counting the seconds until he can crawl into his bed again. Darren notices, as he has practically every time that Chris hasn't felt well, because he seems to have some sort sixth sense for Chris's physical and emotional state. He can't decide if it's just Darren's nursing skills in action or if it's a sign of the special bond Chris feels like they already have. He desperately wants to believe it's something unique, that he's special to Darren in some way, but the reality is that he's known Darren for less than twenty-four hours so it's really too soon to tell for sure.

“Tired?” Darren asks him, rubbing the back of his neck.

Chris is too beat to even attempt a lie. He doubts he could fool Darren at this point, even if he gave it his best Oscar-winning performance. “Exhausted,” he admits.

Darren nods and shuffles closer so Chris can rest his head against his hip again. His fingers travel upwards from the base of his neck and slide into his hair. Chris sighs appreciatively as his eyes flutter closed and he drifts, not even registering the ding of the elevator as they arrive at his floor.

* * *

“Cozy?” Darren asks him a few minutes later as literally tucks him into bed, pulling the blanket up to his neck and smoothing it around his shoulders.

“Mhm,” Chris manages. Being horizontal in bed is vastly preferable to being vertical, but he still feels like death warmed over. He wants to sleep for a week, but he doubts that's in the cards for him thanks to how much his stomach hurts.

“Okay, just sit tight for a second,” Darren tells him as he stands.

“Wait!” Chris calls out, more desperately than he intended, as he reaches for Darren's sleeve.

Darren stops immediately and turns back to him. “What's wrong?”

Chris feels his cheeks flush warm with humiliation. “Do you – um –  _have_  to leave already or can you stay a little longer?” he babbles nervously.

“Oh no, I'm not leaving yet,” Darren assures him. “Well, I mean I  _was_ , but only for a minute. I was just going to tell your nurse you were ready for your anti-nausea and pain medications, but then I'll be right back, okay?”

Chris feels silly for making such a fuss, but he can't deny that he's also relieved. “That would be good, thanks,” he mumbles and reluctantly releases Darren's sleeve.

Darren reaches over and pats Chris's shoulder before he heads out of the room in search of his nurse.

Once he's sure that Darren's out of earshot, he slides his hand down to rub at his stomach, groaning at how much he's starting to hurt. The small trip downstairs had taken much more out of him than he'd anticipated that it would. Still, it had been worth it for the chance to get to know Darren better and confirm that their chemistry and mutual interest hadn't been all in his head.

He reaches over and snags his phone off the small tray table. He unlocks his phone and opens his text messages, seeing two missed texts from Ashley.

Ashley (8:17 AM): Okay, that Darren guy is MUCH cuter than I remembered him being yesterday. I'm going to hit you if you don't tap that. I mean maybe wait until after your stitches come out and everything so it doesn't kill you, but seriously, boo. Get it.

Ashley (8:50 AM): I hope the fact that you haven't texted me back yet means that your date is going well? Just text me to let me know when the coast is clear to come back to your room.

Chris rolls his eyes at how utterly transparent Ashley's motives are. She seems to think it's her calling in life to get him laid regularly, even though he's told her more times than he can count that he has zero interest in casual sex or one night stands. He tried it a few times in college, but it just wasn't for him. It didn't make him feel good about himself and as much as Chris tries to pretend otherwise, he's a romantic at heart. He doesn't want just sex, he wants it to  _mean_  something. It scares and thrills him in equal measure that he can already imagine a future where he might get there with Darren.

Chris (8:58 AM): We just got back up to the room but Darren's going to hang out a little while longer until he has to go to work. You can come back at 9:30 AM or anytime after that. No rush though, because the first thing I'm doing once he leaves is taking a nap.

Chris is just setting his phone back on the table when Darren reenters the room with his nurse hot on heels.

“Hi Chris,” she greets him, rolling the small vital signs machine up to his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Chris admits with a sigh.

“Well, hopefully we can fix that,” she tells him with a sympathetic smile. “I just need to check your vitals first and then I've got a couple of medicines for you.”

Chris nods, extending his arm so she can wrap the blood pressure cuff around it. She passes him the thermometer and he obediently slides it under his tongue while she clips the pulse oximeter to his index finger. Darren stays out of the way a few feet behind her, but Chris can tell he's itching to be doing something more to help by the way he fidgets awkwardly and never takes his eyes off Chris. That knowledge is enough to make Chris feel warm from the inside out.

The machine beeps and his nurse jots down the numbers and then repeats the same steps in reverse, taking back the thermometer and unhooking the blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter.

“Okay, so I'm going to give you a medicine for nausea first that needs to go in your IV,” she announces. She pulls a syringe from the pocket of her scrub top and takes Chris's hand. He's still got an IV line in his hand but thankfully they disconnected him from the fluids this morning so he didn't have to lug an IV pole down to the cafeteria with him. She removes the cap from the syringe and connects it to the port and slowly depresses the plunger to inject it into his vein. Chris shivers slightly as his hand goes cold from the medication. “Okay, all done,” she lets him know a few seconds later as she disconnects the syringe from the IV.

“Your surgeon switched you to oral pain medications this morning since you are hopefully going to be going home later today. This is the same medicine that you'll be taking at home. The prescription says to take 1-2 pills every 4-6 hours, depending on how much pain you're in. Do you think need just one or two right now?” she asks.

“Um,” Chris deliberates, eyes automatically flickering to Darren. The truth is that is hurts a lot, but he doesn't want to seem like a wimp.

“Take two,” Darren tells him. “You'll thank me later.”

“Okay,” Chris acquiesces. The nurse nods and passes him a small paper cup that contains two white tablets. He starts to scan the room for a drink to take his pills with but before he can even ask, Darren's passing him a chilled bottle of water.

“Thanks,” Chris murmurs and throws both the pills back and takes a big sip of water. The nurse takes the now empty paper cup from him and throws it into the trash. “Hopefully you can get some rest now,” she tells him. “I'll shut the door so you won't be disturbed. Just hit the call button if you need anything, okay?”

“Will do, thanks again,” Chris responds.

Darren waits until the nurse has left the room and closed the door behind her before he makes his way over to Chris's bed again.

“Hey,” he says, ruffling Chris's hair affectionately.

“Hey yourself,” Chris breathes.

“You're feeling pretty miserable, huh?” Darren comments, more statement than legitimate question, as his fingers slide down to cup Chris's cheek.

“That obvious?” Chris huffs out a laugh. “What gave it away?”

“Your face mainly, but also the fact that you didn't even try to argue with me about taking two painkillers instead of one. Your pulse rate was a little elevated too.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I mean you're the medical professional, not me,” Chris shrugs and then winces when that small movement makes his side twinge painfully. “How long will it take for the medicine to kick in?” he asks, barely suppressing a whimper.

“Not long on the anti-nausea medication that went in your IV, but probably fifteen to twenty minutes on the pain medicine? Something like that,” Darren answers.

“That long?” Chris groans.

“That's the average anyway, but maybe you'll luck out and it won't be quite so long for you,” Darren explains apologetically. “In the meantime, I'll do my best to keep you distracted.” He turns to look behind him; his eyes land on the chair in the corner and he goes to drag it closer to the bed.

“You can just sit here, if you want?” Chris offers shyly, patting the bed next to him.

“If you insist,” Darren grins. He carefully lowers himself down on the bed facing Chris. “Is this okay? I'm not crowding you too much?” he checks.

“No, it's... good,” Chris promises. He thinks for a minute, debating on whether or not to say what he's thinking. He lets his eyes flutter shut and then adds, “It'd be better if you touched me again, though.” He feels sort of ridiculous voicing the thought out loud, but he knows he has the excuse of being drugged up to fall back on if Darren seems weirded out by it. Darren did promise to distract him from the pain earlier, and he can't think of a better distraction than his touch.

“Oh, it would, would it?” Darren chuckles softly, sounding amused. But clearly he must not mind, because he begins carding his fingers through Chris's hair without hesitation. “You're secretly a cuddle whore, aren't you?” he teases.

“I don't know that it's that big of a secret, honestly,” Chris hums happily. “But I don't like cuddling with just  _anyone_. I have my standards, after all.”

“Well, I'm honored to meet your cuddle standards. Just to warn you up front, I'm a very... tactile person. If you are a cuddle whore, I'm whatever title is seven steps above that,” Darren informs him.

“Does that mean you're a cuddle slut who gets touchy feely with anyone who'll have him?” Chris pouts. He's starting to feel pleasantly fuzzy thanks to the anti-nausea meds. He says a mental prayer of gratitude to the pharmaceutical gods that the medication worked before he had the chance to throw up all over Darren. He couldn't imagine anything more humiliating than that.

“Not when I've got someone as cute as you to cuddle with,” Darren assures him. “I'm a monogamous cuddler now. You've converted me.”

“Good,” Chris nods in satisfaction. “Even if you are kind of ridiculous,” he slurs.

“Takes one to know one,” Darren banters back, reaching down to tweak the tip of Chris's nose.

“...did you just boop my nose?” Chris laughs. “Or am I already high enough that I imagined it?”

“Um, I might have booped your nose, as you so aptly put it, but I also think you're pretty high, judging by how much you are slurring your words.”

“Sorry,” Chris blushes, feeling embarrassed. “I'm talking funny?”

“A bit, but not to worry because you're adorable. Drugged up, not drugged up, pretty much always, I feel like I have ample evidence to be safe in assuming that at this point,” Darren grins down at him. He brushes a lock of hair from Chris's temple and they both just stare at one another. Chris waits breathlessly, assuming Darren is  _finally_  going to close the space between them so they can kiss. Darren's hand slides lower, running the pad of his thumb along his cheekbone. Chris sighs and leans into the touch. Darren's fingers curl around the line of his jaw and his eyes go dark with obvious intent as his gaze flickers down to Chris's lips, just for a moment. Chris can't take the tension any longer and his eyelids feel like they weigh a ton so he lets his eyes flutter closed, waiting in breathless anticipation for the brush of Darren' lips against his.

It never comes.

Instead, he feels Darren's hand still on his jaw and the rustling of sheets as Darren moves. Chris cracks one eye open long enough to see Darren glance at his watch. “I have to go soon,” he says apologetically. “It's almost 9:15 now and I can't be late for my shift.”

“But...” Chris trails off, feeling disappointed.

“But?” Darren presses when he doesn't finish the thought.

“Do you have to go right now? Could you maybe stay until I fall asleep?” he requests, his voice small.

“Of course,” Darren agrees easily. “Close your eyes,” he commands and begins stroking Chris's hair again.

Chris does as commanded, trying to let the soothing sensation quiet his mind. It doesn't work. He drags his eyes open again instead, peering up at Darren.

“That doesn't look like sleeping, Chris,” Darren gently chastises.

“I'm going to see you again, right?” Chris slurs. “You aren't going to disappear once I leave the hospital?”

“Are you kidding me? You couldn't get rid of me at this point even if you tried,” Darren vows.

“Promise?”

“I swear,” Darren tells him. As if to punctuate his point, he bends down and kisses Chris's forehead. “Now close your eyes.”

Chris sighs and lets his eyes flutter closed again. He can feel the tug of medication trying to pull him under and this time he doesn't resist. The last thing he feels as he drifts off to sleep is the sensation of Darren's fingers carding through his hair.

He hears a reverent whisper of “Sweet dreams, Chris” and a quick brush of lips against his forehead again and then there's only warmth and darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only downside to posting a fic this long all at once (instead of a chapter each day or something similar) is missing out on the opportunity to see readers react to each new plot development as they read your work. If you wanted to take a moment to stop and leave a comment or two to tell me what you think of the story along the way, that would be absolutely wonderful and greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Chris (2:38 PM): Guess who has two thumbs & is going home right now? This guy \o/

Darren (2:40 PM): Yay! Congratulations, that's excellent news. Did you get a good nap in after I had to leave?

Chris (2:40 PM): Yeah, I was out for at least two hours, possibly even three.

Darren (2:40 PM): Good, I'm glad to hear that. You needed your rest.

Chris (2:43 PM): Ow, why are cab rides so bumpy.

Darren (2:44 PM): Oh no :( Maybe you should pass the phone up to the taxi driver for me.

Chris (2:44 PM): Wait, why?

Darren (2:45 PM): So I can tell him to be more careful with you in the car since he's carrying precious cargo.

Chris (2:45 PM): Is that your professional medical recommendation or are you just trying to flirt with me? ;)

Darren (2:46 PM): Let's call it a little of column A, a little of column B. And for the record, I can do a lot more than TRY when it comes to flirting. I always succeed.

Chris (2:46 PM): If you say so :P Feeling pretty cocky today, huh?

Darren (2:48 PM): I am, in fact. You see, I asked out this really cute guy last night and he said yes. Then today we went out on our first date. And personally, I thought we really hit it off and had great chemistry. It's hard not to get a big head after dating someone as amazing as him, you know? I really like him.

Chris (2:48 PM): I have it on good authority that he likes you too.

Darren (2:49 PM): I'm hoping he might like me enough to agree to a second date in the near future and maybe I could even steal a kiss?

Chris (2:50 PM): That could probably be arranged. I thought that might have been in the cards for today and then I had to go all Linda Blair on you and ruin the mood. Threatened vomit is kinda a buzzkill that way, sorry :/

Darren (2:51 PM): No need to apologize because you didn't ruin anything. You didn't puke but even if you had, I would have found you every bit as cute afterwards. And I wanted to kiss you when we were in your room, but I felt a little weird about it.

Chris (2:51 PM): Why?

Darren (2:51 PM): Because you were obviously pretty drugged up and half asleep and I didn't want to take advantage of that.

Chris (2:52 PM): I really wouldn't have minded, just so you know. I wanted you to kiss me.

Darren (2:53 PM): Well, in that case – rain check? And since we're both confessing things, spending time with you & getting to know you better was without a doubt the best part of my day, okay?

Chris (2:53 PM): The day is barely half over but okay <3

Darren (2:54 PM): Has anyone ever told you that you really need to learn how to take a compliment?

Chris (2:54 PM): Uh, once or twice...

Darren (2:54 PM): By which you mean like every single day, right?

Chris (2:54 PM): ...

Darren (2:55 PM): I just want you to know how awesome you are, alright? Call it my new mission, making sure that really hot, witty guys like yourself know that they are all those things and more.

Chris (2:55 PM): How charitable of you.

Darren (2:56 PM): I know, right? I'm a nurse and I tell hot guys that they are hot? I'm basically Mother Teresa or Gandhi ;)

Chris (2:56 PM): Is it too late to retract that statement?

Chris (2:56 PM): But seriously, thank you. You can't see me right now, but just be aware that I'm totally blushing as we speak.

Darren (2:57 PM): I'm sure you look adorable :)

Darren (2:57 PM): So I like you & you like me back?

Chris (2:58 PM): Are we in middle school? Do you want me to check the box for yes if I want to go steady?

Darren (2:58 PM): I mean... it would simplify my life somewhat if you wanted to do that for me. But what I was going to ask is if my odds of securing a second date are pretty high?

Chris (2:58 PM): As long as the date is somewhere besides the hospital next time, yeah, I think that can be arranged.

Chris (2:59 PM): Fuck

Darren (2:59 PM): ???

Chris (2:59 PM): I meant fuck as in ouch.

Darren (2:59 PM): What's wrong?

Chris (3:00 PM): We just hit a huge pothole & now my insides are trying to be outsides, I think.

Chris (3:00 PM): That's what it feels like anyway.

Darren (3:00 PM): Aww baby :(

Chris (3:01 PM): Baby?

Darren (3:01 PM): Too soon?

Chris (3:01 PM): Possibly. I'll have to get back to you on that.

Darren (3:02 PM): Sweetheart & honey are also options. Sorry I like pet names, it's kinda a thing for me.

Chris (3:02 PM): What, no love muffin? Sugarplum?

Darren (3:03 PM): ...well I'm not opposed to them, even though those sound less like pet names and more like things you might eat.

Chris (3:03 PM): Wanky.

Darren (3:03 PM): I try ;)

Darren (3:04 PM): But back to the important thing, have your insides recommitted to being insides and not outsides again yet?

Chris (3:04 PM): Not really.

Darren (3:04 PM): Are you okay?

Chris (3:05 PM): Honestly? I've been better.

Darren (3:05 PM): Just pain? Or are you feeling sick again too?

Chris (3:05 PM): Mainly just really, really sore.

Chris (3:06 PM): This is probably the longest I've been sitting upright since I had surgery and so far I'm not really a fan.

Chris (3:06 PM): 0/10 would not recommend.

Darren (3:06 PM): Yeah, you need to be at home and tucked into bed ASAP. Are you getting close yet?

Chris (3:08 PM): We're probably a mile away from my apartment building. We would have been home by now but traffic is a bitch.

Darren (3:08 PM): I'm glad you're almost home. Only have to hang in there a little longer *hugs*

Chris (3:08 PM): I'll do my best.

Darren (3:09 PM): I'm sorry I can't be there to help out. I wish I could be...

Chris (3:09 PM): I wish you were too.

Darren (3:10 PM): Stupid work ruining my best laid plans.

Chris (3:10 PM): Hey, if it wasn't for your work, we would have never met, so it's not THAT stupid.

Darren (3:10 PM): You raise an excellent point.

Darren (3:11 PM): Ashley's with you now, right?

Chris (3:11 PM): Yep.

Darren (3:11 PM): What did they give you in the way of pain medication?

Chris (3:11 PM): Uh, Vicodin, I think. Why?

Darren (3:12 PM): Just being my nosy nurse self. I like to know these things.

Chris (3:12 PM): Whatever you say, weirdo.

Darren (3:12 PM): You should take one as soon as you get home and get straight into bed, okay?

Chris (3:13 PM): Yes sir. That I can do.

Darren (3:13 PM): Also a nap wouldn't be a horrible idea.

Chris (3:13 PM): I've already taken one nap today.

Darren (3:14 PM): So? Naps are awesome, especially for extremely stubborn and recently operated on people who need their rest. There also isn't some nap limit. If one nap is good, two naps are great.

Chris (3:14 PM): Are you always this bossy?

Darren (3:14 PM): Hey, you said you wanted me to be your personal nurse. This is what you get. Day or night, Darren Nightingale is at your service, even via text when he should be tending to his real in person patients.

Chris (3:14 PM): Lucky me.

Darren (3:15 PM): No, I'm the lucky one. Definitely getting the better end of this deal.

Chris (3:15 PM): Oh thank god, we just turned onto my street.

Darren (3:15 PM): Hallelujah.

Darren (3:16 PM): Also good timing because there's a new patient heading my way right now.

Chris (3:16 PM): He or she better not be cuter than me *pouts*

Darren (3:16 PM): Um, she's like 75 so...

Darren (3:16 PM): No promises.

Chris (3:16 PM: You dick.

Darren (3:17 PM): No one is as cute as you, silly. I thought we covered this already.

Chris (3:17 PM): Maybe my ego just needed stroking again?

Darren (3:17 PM): Feel free to call me anytime your anything needs stroking.

Chris (3:17 PM): ...are you sure there isn't something you can take for that blurtitis?

Darren (3:18 PM): Sorry. Hopefully one day we'll find a cure. Or at least a treatment.

Chris (3:18 PM): Okay, time to hobble out of the taxi and up to my apartment so I can collapse on my bed.

Darren (3:18 PM): Good luck and might I recommend that you collapse very gently? Then take your pill and text me so I know you survived the trek to your bed, okay love muffin?

Chris (3:18 PM): Fine, I will concede to you calling me baby as long as you promise to never ever call me love muffin again.

Darren (3:18 PM): Hey, it was your idea! But deal.

Chris (3:19 PM): I'll text you in a bit. Have fun with your super hot geriatric patient.

* * *

 When  _are you still watching Daredevil?_ pops up on the TV screen instead of just playing through to the next episode like it'd done the past three times, Chris decides it's probably time for a break.

“I just had surgery, Netflix. I'm  _supposed_  to be resting,” he grumbles under his breath in the direction of the television as he pushes up on one elbow and struggles to a sitting position. Chris winces at the now familiar zap of pain over his incision as he moves. He exhales in a rush while he rubs at the tender spot, waiting until it passes. Once it does, he carefully stretches his arms overhead, trying to ease the tension in his back and shoulders. He didn't realize it was possible to be stiff and sore from lying around so much, but he's quickly learned he was wrong about that. He's in desperate need of a massage and half-tempted to enlist Darren's services. Chris isn't sure if massage skills are part of general nursing training, but he has a feeling that Darren will be good at it nonetheless. He's pretty sure he hasn't encountered a single thing that Darren  _isn't_  good at yet

Chris is trying to muster up the energy to make his way to the bedroom and get ready for bed when his phone starts to buzz from its perch on the coffee table. He leans forward to snag it, eyes lighting up as he realizes it's Darren calling him.

“Ow,” he groans as he flops back against the couch cushions too quickly and gets a stitch in his opposite side. He rubs at the new sore spot as he hits accept on the call.

“Hello?” he says a little too brightly, trying to overcompensate for his still twinging side.

“Hi there,” Darren greets him. “Sounds like someone's having a good night. Big party?

“Oh yes, you know me, ever the party animal,” Chris jokes back.

“Wow, I'm hurt. Didn't you even think of inviting me?”

“Sorry friend, the invitations were sent out months ago. Besides, weren't you at work?” he points out.

“I think we're a little more than friends at this point, Chris. Doesn't your personal nurse slash the guy you're dating merit an evite at least?” Darren says, bemused. “But yeah, I just got off work.”

Chris barely suppresses the temptation to kicky feet at the confirmation that Darren definitely thinks of them as more than friends. It's not news to Chris or anything, but hearing it spelled out does a lot to reassure his typical (albeit irrational) anxieties. “Well, I promise next time I have a fake party, you'll be the first person I send an evite to, okay?”

Darren laughs long and hard at that. “Awesome, that's a big relief.”

“How was work?” Chris asks him.

“Long and boring mostly,” Darren replies. “We weren't super busy with patients today so there was a lot of restocking supplies and paperwork.”

“Ooh, your favorites,” Chris comments sarcastically.

“Yeah no, not so much. Neither of those things were the reasons I decided to go to nursing school, funnily enough,” Darren sighs. “How's the recovery going?”

“Pretty much the same – long and boring,” Chris grumbles. “I didn't know I could be sore from lying still until this week. I'm in desperate need of a massage,” he admits.

“Aww, poor baby. Want me to swing by on my way home?” Darren offers casually.

Chris shivers a little at the casual term of endearment. He hadn't known that it was a  _thing_  for him until recently, but he's quickly becoming a convert. “Kinda tempted, but no, you don't need to do that. I'm gross and I was about to head to bed anyway.”

“I really don't mind,” Darren swears. “And I'm sure you look as amazing as ever.”

“I appreciate the offer but I took my pain meds like ten minutes ago so I'll probably be unconscious by the time you could get over here,” Chris explains. “You can talk to me until I fall asleep though, if you want?”

“Done. That I can do,” Darren agrees easily. “Speaking of which, when am I going to see you again? I miss you.”

“It's only been like a day and a half since I saw you last.”

“So? I still miss you,” Darren insists. “Are you saying you don't miss me?” Chris can hear the pout in his voice, even over the phone.

“No, I do. I'm just pointing out that it's a little insane that we feel that way, I guess? I don't know, I'm drugged. I'm can't be held responsible for my words,” Chris babbles, blushing.

“Duly noted. You're just a very missable person, Chris. Hasn't anyone ever told you that before?”

“No, because for starters, that's not even a word.”

Darren snorts into the phone.

“What's so funny? Am I already slurring my words?” Chris asks, suddenly paranoid. “I thought I had at least another five to ten minutes of relative coherence before my meds kicked in.”

“No, you're good. What you said just reminded me of my favorite episode of Friends.”

“What I said?”

“That's not even a word,” Darren repeats. “It's from the episode of Friends where they play that made up game show and bet their apartments on it.”

“Oh right, The One With All the Embryos,” Chris remembers. “When Rachel makes up some weird word for Chandler's job.”

“Yep, that's the part,” Darren confirms. “Pretty sure I was totally useless for two weeks after they finally put Friends on Netflix. All I did besides work and sleep was rewatch all the episodes again starting from the beginning.”

“That's not a bad idea. Maybe I'll add Friends to my Netflix rotation. Although come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't or I'll probably pop a stitch from laughing too hard. I've been primarily sticking to dramas for that reason,” he explains.

“Wise decision. Did you watch anything good today?” Darren inquires.

“Yeah, I'm halfway through watching Daredevil. Have you seen it yet?”

“No, not yet, sadly. It's in my queue though, I just haven't gotten around to it.”

“I think you'd really like it,” Chris tells him. “It's a little... okay a lot bloody at times, but I assume that wouldn't bother you as much as it bothers me. But it's very addicting once it gets going. I only stopped watching it a few minutes before you called because Netflix did the judgy thing.” He yawns, forgetting to cover his mouth until it's too late.

“I take it your medicine is starting to kick in?” Darren comments, more statement than question.

“Yeah, guess so,” Chris sighs, deciding he needs to drag himself to bed now before he's too sleepy and doped up to be able to make it to his bedroom safely.

“And does Netflix judge you regularly?” Darren teases. “I'm not sure if I know what judgy thing you're referring to.”

“You know, when it's like “Are you STILL watching Daredevil” or whatever and makes you hit a button to confirm that you meant to watch six episodes in a row before it'll continue playing,” Chris explains.

“Oh,  _that_ ,” Darren chuckles. “I guess I tend to think of that as Netflix checking to see if you fell asleep three episodes back rather than it judging your binge watching preferences.”

“Still,” Chris grumbles, “it's rude.” He sits forward, splinting his arm against his side as he plants his feet on the ground in preparation to stand

“Touché,” Darren says. “So...” he begins.

Chris pushes up to a standing position, using the arm of the couch for leverage. He sucks in a sharp breath at predictable flash of pain over his largest incision at the change in position.

“Chris? Everything alright there?” Darren checks.

“Yeah,” he grits out, “just the usual fun of moving.” He slowly staggers towards the bedroom, still clutching his side with his free hand.

“Poor thing,” Darren sighs. “I was hoping that would have let up by now. Why are you moving now anyway? Isn't it bedtime?”

“Definitely bedtime, but I was lying on the couch not my bed, so unfortunately moving was required,” Chris manages in a tight voice. “And moving continues to suck. It's probably gotten a little easier since the hospital but it still hurts like a bitch, hence why I try to do it as little as possible.”

“Very wise. I was worried you were going to get home and start running around like a crazy person and wind up back here,” Darren admits. “I'm glad someone could keep you in line.”

“Yeah no, Ashley would kick my ass if I tried that. I assume you would too, if necessary?” Chris slurs, collapsing onto his bed with a pained grunt.

“Probably,” he agrees. “Still okay?” he checks again.

“Mhm,” Chris reassures. “That was just me falling onto my bed.”

“Yay bed,” Darren congratulates. “But maybe for your safety and my sanity, you could start getting into bed a little more gently?”

“You worry too much,” Chris scolds without any heat.

“About you? That seems likely,” Darren acknowledges. “You know what might help with that?”

“Hmm?”

“Getting to see you with my own eyes more often. That tends to be more reassuring than texts or phone calls,” he explains.

“If you want another date, you should just ask for it,” Chris teases.

“Okay Chris, when may I have the honor and privilege of your company again for another date?” Darren asks. “Was that formal enough for you this time?”

“I guess,” Chris finally agrees after a long pause. “And not until Friday.”

“Friday? That's forever,” Darren whines. “Why so long?”

“Maybe my dance card is already full?” Chris jokes.

“Chris c'mon, you're killing me,” Darren groans.

“Fine, the truth is that's when I get my stitches out. Until then I'm forbidden from bathing or showering and I feel and I'm sure also look disgusting, so no dates until then,” he lays out for Darren.

“Seriously? You're making me wait almost a week to see you because you can't shower?” Darren grumbles. “You know I don't care about that kind of thing, right?”

“The personal hygiene of your signficant others? Well, I do,” Chris murmurs. He starts to say more but breaks off into a long yawn instead. “Sorry if I want to preserve what little is left of my dignity.”

“Ew, dignity? That stuff is vastly overrated,” Darren admonishes. “Besides, you are pretty much perfect to me regardless of whether you can shower or not.”

“So sappy,” Chris tuts.

“Hey, it's a justified level of sappiness since you're trying to prevent me from seeing you for nearly a whole week,” Darren says defensively. “But I guess I should stop pestering you to give in when you're obviously already half asleep.”

“I'm not half asleep,” Chris protests. “Maybe just like... one-quarter asleep currently.”

“Very convincing,” Darren laughs. “Feeling better now that you're properly in bed?” he checks.

“Yep. Not sure if that's thanks to being horizontal or the painkillers kicking in but either way, I'm not complaining,” Chris hums in reply.

“That's excellent news. Now all you need is a lullaby?” Darren teases.

“I mean, sure, if you're offering. Just not Uptown Funk this time, please?” Chris mumbles. He's mostly joking and definitely not expecting Darren to take him up on the request, which is why it's a surprise when in lieu of response, Darren starts singing.

_Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur_

Chris huffs out a laugh when he recognizes the song. And even in his semi-conscious state, he's also a little blown away by just how good Darren's voice is.

_Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr purr purr_

“Thanks, but not a kitty,” Chris protests weakly.

“You're at least like, ten percent kitty,” Darren replies, his voice low and fond. “But fine, if you insist.”

_Soft Chris, warm Chris, little ball of... um person?_

_Happy Chris, sleepy Chris, purr purr purr_

“Better?” he asks.

“Yes, thank you,” Chris manages sleepily, snuggling down deeper into his pillow.

“Okay, I'm going to let you get some rest now,” Darren tells him. “Goodnight, Chris.”

“'Night, Darren.”

“Sweet dreams,” Darren whispers.

Chris uses his last moment of consciousness to hang up the call and let go of his phone. He's asleep before his phone hits the bed.

* * *

Two tedious days of recovery later, Chris stands in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. His stomach looks awful, bruised and covered in four small scars with angry-looking black stitches. He shudders involuntarily and drops his shirt back down. With a deep sigh, he picks up his phone.

Chris (7:14 AM): How long does it take for scars to go away?

Darren (7:16 AM): Well, good morning to you too!

Darren (7:16 AM): The sun is shining and it's beautiful day. Thanks for asking.

Chris (7:16 AM): Shut up.

Chris (7:16 AM): Ugh fine, I mean hi, good morning, how did you sleep, blah blah blah. Now can we get back to me?

Darren (7:16 AM): Geez, so bossy!

Chris (7:17 AM): You love it.

Darren (7:17 AM): I really, really do.

Darren (7:17 AM): Okay, fine. Darren Nightingale to the rescue, how can I be of service?

Chris (7:17 AM): How can I make these scars not look so gross?

Darren (7:17 AM): Why, worried it's going to wreck your bikini beach season? :P

Chris (7:18 AM): Maybe. But seriously *whines* fix it.

Darren (7:18 AM): Time plus Vitamin E. That's really all you can do. Also sunscreen.

Chris (7:18 AM): Why sunscreen? Does it help the scars fade or something

Darren (7:19 AM): No, but if you let the scars get sun, they tend to get even darker which is sort of the opposite of what you are going for.  Although given that it's 18 degrees out right now, something tells me your torso is probably going to be staying under wraps a little while longer

Chris (7:19 AM): How do you know I'm not wearing a crop top today?

Darren (7:19 AM): Are you? I feel like the New York City public school system would probably frown on that.

Chris (7:20 AM): No, no crop tops for me today, I'm afraid. And my doctor won't release me to go back to work until after my follow-up appointment on Friday so no school for me today either.

Darren (7:20 AM): Woo, party! Are you enjoying your time playing hooky

Chris (7:20 AM): No, not really. I feel bad that I'm not there. My students have AP exams in a couple of weeks.

Darren (7:21 AM): I'm sure they'll be okay without you. Don't worry.

Chris (7:21 AM): Easier said than done. But I'm trying to work from home at least a little today and get caught up on grading and my syllabus for the next nine weeks and all that jazz.

Darren (7:21 AM): Chris.

Chris (7:21 AM): Darren.

Darren (7:21 AM): You do remember that you had surgery barely five days ago, right?

Chris (7:22 AM): You know, oddly enough the fact that my entire torso is black and blue and covered in scars that may never fade is a pretty decent reminder of that, yeah.

Darren (7:22 AM): The scars will fade. It's been less than a week. You haven't even gotten your stitches out yet, right? You just need to be patient.

Chris (7:22 AM): I'm no good at patience, in case you haven't picked up on that yet. And correct, the stitches don't come out until Friday.

Darren (7:22 AM): Thought so.

Chris (7:23 AM): Will CVS have Vitamin E do you think? I've got to go pick up a few prescriptions from there today anyways. Or have Ashley pick them up, to be more precise, since I'm not allowed to drive yet either *pouts*

Darren (7:23 AM): They'd probably have it, but I'm pretty positive I've already got some here. I'll hook you up.

Chris (7:23 AM): My hero <3

Darren (7:23 AM): I can bring it over tonight once I'm off work.

Chris (7:24 AM): Darren, we've been through this. You can't come over. Not until after Friday.

Darren (7:24 AM): But that's such a long time. I want to see you sooner than that.

Chris (7:25 AM): It's not that I don't want to see you. You know that I do. But I haven't been allowed to shower since Wednesday morning and there's only so much that can be done with sponge baths and dry shampoo and Febreeze. I feel disgusting. I'm sure I smell disgusting.

Darren (7:25 AM): Hey, I should be the only one giving you sponge baths. You need a professional.

Chris (7:25 AM): I do? Well, if you know of any good professionals in the area you should totally let me know.

Darren (7:25 AM): I hate you. And I can be professional-ish when I have to be. You just haven't seen my serious side yet. It's buried deep inside layers of fun and ridiculousness, kinda like the gum in the center of a Blow-Pop.

Chris (7:26 AM): A Blow-Pop, seriously? Okay. *insert obligatory blow job joke here*

Chris thinks back over his stay in the hospital, realizing that he had seen glimpses of a more serious, professional Darren. Any time he'd been in pain or uncomfortable, Darren dropped the jokes immediately and was at his side, giving him what he needed. Even when what Chris wanted wasn't what he needed. Before he can thank Darren for all that he's done for him so far, he's texting Chris again.

Darren (7:26 AM): What if I didn't shower for the rest of the week in solidarity? Then we would both smell and thus be on equal ground.

Chris (7:26 AM): Ew, hard pass.

Darren (7:27 AM): Hey now, I'll have you know I don't sweat, I just glisten.

Chris (7:27 AM): Suuuure and I bet you smell like a rose garden after you work out too?

Darren (7:27 AM): I don't work out.

Chris (7:27 AM): Liar, I've seen your arms.

Darren (7:27 AM): No seriously, I don't. But I have to lift patients all the time so I guess that's counts as exercise or something?

Darren (7:28 AM): But anyways, back to our plans for tonight's date...

Chris (7:28 AM): Darren.

Darren (7:28 AM): Okay cards on the table: if I have to wait a whole week to see you again I might die. Do you really want my blood on your hands?

Before Chris can formulate a response, Darren's texting him again.

Darren (7:29 AM): I'm not too proud to beg, if need be.

Darren (7:29 AM): Just say yes.

Chris sighs heavily. Between his vanity and desire to see Darren again, he already knows what will win out.

Chris (7:29 AM): Okay, yes. How's 7:00?

Darren (7:29 AM): Perfect. I'll bring soup. And vitamin E.


	3. Chapter 3

Darren arrives right on schedule at 7:00, by which time Chris has managed to work himself into a nervous frenzy. Ashley helped him wash his hair in the sink and another sponge bath took care of the rest of his body, but he still doesn't feel quite as clean as he would after a proper hot shower. Plus, there's something about his typical date ritual that he finds reassuring, a way for him to ensure that he looks (and feels) his best. Tonight he doesn't have his usual routine to fall back on and these aren't just the typical first date jitters, because it's not really a first date. Nor is it with merely an ordinary guy he met on Match.com or Tinder, a half-hearted attempt at getting Ashley off his back about how he needs to go out and meet people more often. It's not simply some stress relief and a guy who looks like he'd be worthy of heated kisses or sloppy hand jobs after the movie if he's feeling particularly horny. No, this is a date with  _Darren_  and after only five days of knowing him, Chris already knows that this date means something more. He's in way too deep not to have feelings on the line and that scares the ever loving shit out of him.

He takes a deep breath and smoothes down the purple button down shirt he's wearing before opening the door. His eyes light up as he sees Darren clutching a small bouquet of yellow and white daisies. “Hi,” Darren greets him, automatically reaching out his arms for a hug. Chris doesn't need any more encouragement than that to step into his embrace.

“Feeling a little better?” Darren asks as he squeezes Chris's shoulder in what he's already coming to recognize as his default hug move.

“Yeah, getting there,” Chris murmurs, chin resting on Darren's shoulder.

“You look it,” Darren comments. “Also, you don't smell at all, liar.”

Chris laughs and pulls back so he can see Darren's face. “Were you sniffing me, you big weirdo?”

“Um, no comment. You were the one you brought it up initially, so I figured the nice thing to do was tell you that you don't smell bad?” Darren shrugs helplessly. “You smell good, actually.”

“Well... thank you?” Chris is also at a loss. “Ashley helped me wash my hair in the sink, which was really fucking cold but also necessary.”

“I see,” Darren chuckles. “That's going above and beyond the call of roommate duty.”

Chris looks at Darren and realizes he's still awkwardly standing on threshold of his apartment, waiting for an invitation. “Sorry – where are my manners? Come in,” he beckons, blushing.

“Thanks,” Darren replies and steps in after Chris. He hovers in the entryway while Chris closes and locks the door behind them both, just taking in the décor. “Is Ashley here, by the way?”

“Nope, she's doing drinks with her coworkers tonight,” Chris tells him. He leaves out the part where she was basically banned from coming back to the apartment until Chris texts her the all clear. He doesn't even feel particularly guilty about it, because it's not like Chris hasn't been shooed out of the apartment and to the coffee shop down the street many times by Ashley and her boyfriend of the week. She still owes him for the time he walked into the apartment to find one of her overnight guests sitting casually on their barstool, totally naked, eating Chris's ice cream out of the carton with a spoon.

“These are for you,” Darren says, handing him the bouquet as they walk over to the kitchen. “I almost went with wine since that's my typical date gift, but then I remembered that you shouldn't be drinking yet so I had to settle for flowers. It was either that or another balloon and I figured I couldn't top Donatello.”

“Maybe he wanted some turtle friends to keep him company, though?” Chris teases. He finds a blue glass vase in the back of one of the cabinets and fills it halfway with water from the sink. He slides the flowers into the vase, nodding with satisfaction as he places them in the center of the table.

“I'm sure it's very lonely for him – being the only ninja in the apartment,” Darren banters back.

“Um, excuse you, I'm a ninja too. He wouldn't be alone in this apartment,” Chris pouts.

“Okay, sure,” Darren rolls his eyes and laughs, clearly still thinking he's joking.

“I'm dead serious,” Chris insists. “You don't believe me?”

“What, like you took a few karate classes when you were seven or something? Or are you asking me to believe you're a black belt who can kick my ass?” Darren inquires with a skeptical tilt of his head.

“Well, I can  _definitely_  kick your ass and I'll prove it. Hang on, let me get my swords,” Chris tells Darren. He walks to his bedroom, leaving a very curious and undoubtedly quite confused Darren stewing in the kitchen.

Chris flips on the light in his closet and rummages around until he lays eyes on his sai swords. It's been a few months since he really practiced with them, but hopefully he's not so rusty that he'll embarrass himself in front of Darren.

“Okay, prepare to be amazed,” Chris announces as he reenters the living room, where Darren's meandered over to the couch.

“You say that like I'm not already. I just found out that my date for the evening is a ninja or at least pretending to be one, though that remains to be seen. Wait, holy shit – are those sai swords?” Darren wonders, his eyes lighting up.

“Fuck yes, they are. Ready for a show?” Chris asks him. “Hopefully I can still do this.”

Darren looks back and forth between Chris's eyes and the swords several times with his mouth agape. “Ready as I'll ever be,” he finally agrees.

“Okay,” Chris says, working his lower lip between his teeth in concentration as he starts spinning the two swords between his fingers at a moderate pace, quickly working up more momentum as he gets the hang of it again. Once he's sure he's got them going well enough that he won't embarrass himself, he starts to lift his arms up until he's finally got the swords spinning over his head so quickly they are both just metal blurs. He bites down hard on his lip as his incision starts to twinge painfully from the position. He quickly slows down the swords and lowers his arms, trying not to wince too visibly. “Tada?” he finishes, finally looking back over at Darren, who's watching him with rapt attention.

He claps, his eyes wide with delight. “Well, aren't you just full of surprises tonight, Christopher.”

“That's me,” Chris says, managing a tight smile. He sets the swords down on the coffee table and rubs at his stomach where he's still sore.

That seems to shake Darren back into motion. He hops to his feet and shoos Chris over to the couch. “Alright my little ninja, you are on couch arrest for the foreseeable future.”

“But...” Chris starts to protest, even as he lets Darren take him by the hand and lower him onto the couch.

“But nothing. You wanted a personal nurse, now you've got it. That means you have to listen to me. Plus, this is my date,” Darren points out.

“I thought it was  _our_  date?” Chris pouts. “Also, this is my apartment.”

“It is our date, but I planned this one, remember? I'm the one who insisted on seeing you tonight and suggested everything. I even got our dinner and our entertainment,” he adds, holding up The Princess Bride DVD.

“So, I'm supposed to do what, exactly – just sit here?” Chris groans.

“Enjoy my witty jokes and stories and tell me how pretty I am, naturally,” Darren laughs. “Stroke my ego.”

“Sorry, Brian gets jealous when I stroke anything besides him,” Chris protests, gesturing to the cat that's joined him on the couch.

“Well hello there,” Darren coos at him, walking back over to the couch.

“He doesn't really like people besides me,” Chris warns. “He's picky that way.”

Darren is undeterred, reaching out a hand towards him. Brian seems to size him up briefly before standing and stretching in Chris's lap, leaving his raised ears to be petted. “Seems to like me just fine,” Darren comments as Brian bumps his hand with his head to get him to stroke his favorite spot directly behind his ears.

“You betrayed me, you will rue this day,” Chris mock whispers to Brian.

“He must have a good sixth sense for people. Guess he sees how loyal and trustworthy I am,” Darren preens.

“He's a cat, not a psychic. I think it's just as likely that you smell like food to him. Maybe he thinks you have tuna in your pocket?” Chris suggests as he stretches back against the couch.

“Is this your not so subtle way of telling me I smell like a fishmonger?” Darren wonders, sniffing his shirt. “What?” he asks when he looks up and notices how intently Chris is staring at him.

“I just realized this is the first time I've seen you in something besides hospital scrubs,” Chris points out.

“And?” Darren prods, surveying the jeans and patterned button down shirt he's wearing. “Do I pass muster?”

“You clean up pretty well, I guess,” he finally says, blushing as he pays Darren the compliment.

“You're not so bad yourself. I mean the hospital gown left a little to be desired, but that Chewbacca t-shirt was pretty sweet, I have to admit,” Darren shoots back.

“Jealous?” Chris teases.

“Very. I might try to steal it from you.

“Not even over my dead body,” Chris insists. “You can't have it, it's my favorite.”

“Well, it would be against my oath as a healer to stand over your dead body, even in service of acquiring such a kick ass shirt, so I guess my foul thievery will have to find a new target.”

Chris laughs despite himself and sticks out his tongue.

“Two can play at this game,” Darren chuckles and flips him off. “This works much better in person than it did over emojis via text message.”

“No kidding,” he agrees.

“Hungry?”

“Not particularly, but I should still eat anyways, I assume? I haven't really gotten my appetite back yet,” Chris sighs. He leaves out the part where he'd weighed himself this morning and realized he'd lost five pounds since last week. He has a feeling that Darren would make fattening him up his number one goal if he knew that, and Chris just doesn't have the stomach for it tonight.

“Yes, you should. Hopefully tonight's menu will be more appealing than the hospital cafeteria food, not that that's a particularly high bar. Okay, I'm going to go heat up our dinner and then we can get cozy,” Darren announces. He stands to head towards the kitchen and Brian yowls pathetically when he stops petting him. “Alright fine, Brian, I guess you can cuddle with us too once I return, but you better keep an eye on my patient in the meantime, deal?” he directs.

“You're so ridiculous,” Chris laughs. “And I don't need a cat babysitter. I have to get up and show you where stuff is anyways.”

“Don't even try it, mister.” Darren shoots him a warning look. “I take couch arrest violations very seriously. I'll either find stuff on my own or you can point.

“But I'm  _fine_ ,” Chris pouts.

“And my goal for tonight is to keep it that way. Are you really this opposed to being coddled a bit?” Darren asks.

“Pretty much. I was mostly left to fend for myself as a kid, so it's what I'm used to, I guess?” Chris shrugs.

Darren frowns, like the entire concept is foreign to him. “Why? Your parents weren't around much?”

“Yes and no. It's not like they were abandoning me so they could go out party it up at a crack den or anything. My little sister has a lot of health issues, so they spent probably half my childhood in and out of various hospitals with her. I hated hospitals so I would usually talk them into letting me stay home by myself instead of going along with them,” he explains, eyes trained on Brian's fur so he doesn't have to see the look of pity in Darren's eyes.

“What's wrong with your sister, if you don't mind me asking?” Darren inquires gently.

“It's a super rare form of epilepsy. She'd have hundreds of seizures a day from the time she was two or three. It took forever for the specialists to diagnose her properly and once they did, it probably took another five or six years before they found a treatment that worked even a little.” Chris wants to change the subject back to something lighter but he's not sure how. It's not that he's  _opposed_  to sharing about Hannah, especially with someone he trusts. He knows that if anyone could understand what growing up around serious illness was like for him, it would probably be Darren. Still, it's a heavy topic and he doesn't want to bring down their night. Hannah and her struggles are one thing, but getting into how her illness has impacted his relationship with his parents is a whole other can of worms, and not one he wants to open up tonight if he can help it.

“Damn, I'm sorry. It must have been hard to be on your own so much, especially when you were pretty young?” Darren comments.

“I don't know, I guess it was normal to me,” Chris murmurs. “I was a pretty introverted kid.”

“What did you do when you were by yourself for a long time? Did you have kids in the neighborhood you could hang out with instead?” Darren asks, while opening several cupboards at random until he locates the bowls.

“No, I never had many friends when I was younger, but I always had the characters in books to keep me company,” Chris smiles, wanting Darren to know he's mostly kidding. It's not exactly a joke, because what he's telling Darren is the truth. He's very far removed from those lonely days now, though, and he doesn't need anyone's sympathy for something he's processed and moved past for the most part.

“You raise an excellent point,” Darren says, giving him a tentative smile. “I was always a big reader too.” He covers two bowls with paper towels to keep the contents from splattering in the microwave and presses the button to start it. “So, if I might pry a little more, how old is your sister and how's she doing now?”

“Hannah will be twenty in August and she's doing a bit better these days. She still has seizures daily, but they've gotten less frequent and severe over time. It's taken a fair amount of experimenting with different medications and a lot of patience, but she's one of the toughest people I know so she just gets on with it,” Chris tells Darren proudly.

“I'm glad to hear it,” Darren replies. He turns back towards the microwave as it beeps. “What do you want to drink?” he asks.

“I'll take a Diet Coke out of the fridge and help yourself to whatever too,” Chris offers.

Darren opens the refrigerator and selects a Diet Coke and a bottled water for himself, tucking them under his arm so he has his hands free to carry the two bowls of soup, spoons, and napkins. Chris watches him balance everything precariously, already anticipating that something is going to go flying. But Darren is less klutzy than him apparently, because he manages to sit everything down on the coffee table without spilling a drop.

“Let me guess: you used to be a waiter?” Chris asks him teasingly.

“Nah, just super coordinated. I always preferred to sing for my supper rather than delivering it to other people, anyways,” Darren says.

“And people would pay for the privilege of being serenaded by you?” Chris wonders aloud, raising one eyebrow appraisingly.

“You say that like it's unfathomable, but yes, they did,” Darren laughs. “I didn't say they paid  _a lot_ , but I made decent money in tips. Definitely enough to cover beer money in college and occasionally enough for a nice meal out if I was lucky.”

“Sorry, I'm just trying to picture it. It's kind of hard when my only experience is a vague recollection of you singing Uptown Funk while I was high on painkillers and half asleep in the recovery room.”

“Ah yes, not my finest hour.” Darren pretends to hang him head in shame.

“Not particularly, mainly because you woke me up with your drumming. Good thing you were cute enough or otherwise I might have bit your head off,” Chris teases.

“You think I'm cute?” Darren asks, blushing adorably.

“I wouldn't be on a date with you right now if I didn't,” Chris points out. He leans forward so he can peer at the bowls sitting in front of him on the coffee table. “So, what's for dinner?” he asks.

“Well, I was going to go with chicken noodle soup because that's a classic for anyone who's sick or recovering from surgery, but then I decided that you might be ready for something a bit less boring by now. So, I went to this great Vietnamese takeout place near my apartment and got us pho. It's still got chicken and noodles in it but hopefully it won't be quite so bland,” Darren explains.

“Wow, you really thought this out, huh?” Chris smiles, touched by the effort Darren's gone to for him. It really shouldn't be surprising at this point, given that thinking about his comfort seems to come very naturally to Darren, but in Chris's past dating experience, it's a pretty rare (and highly valued) quality.

Darren shrugs. “It's no big deal,” he replies, trying to sound casual. “I love this place too. I probably order from there at least once a week.”

“Alright, let's see what all the fuss is about, then,” Chris announces and picks up the steaming bowl of soup and settles it on his lap. “It smells good,” he comments while he reaches for a spoon with his free hand.

“Did you want to start the movie now or wait until after we've finished eating?” Darren asks.

“Now is good,” Chris tells him. “I've been going to bed crazy early for the last few days, so if we wait too much longer, there's a good chance that I'll end up falling asleep on you mid-movie.”

“Well, we certainly can't have that, now can we?” Darren tuts. “I mean it's bad enough that you made it to the ripe old age of twenty-six without seeing The Princess Bride, but to fall asleep during it would be a true sacrilege.” He grabs the plastic sack on the coffee table and rummages around until he produces a DVD.

“Oh and before I forget, this is for you,” he says and hands Chris a small purple and white cardboard box that reads  _Mederma_  on the front.

“What the-” Chris starts to say, confused. Then, he notices the fine print underneath that says “scar serum.” “Oh right, I'd completely forgotten about that! Thank you,” he exclaims gratefully.

“Of course, I always deliver,” Darren says with a wink.

Chris rolls his eyes but laughs despite himself. He opens the box curiously and removes a medium sized tube. “How often can I use this?”

“Uh, it should say on the package, but usually two to three times a day is standard.”

“But I can't use it yet, right?” Chris checks.

“You shouldn't until the stitches come out, that's correct. I assume you still have Tegaderms on your incisions?” Darren asks while kneeling in front of Chris's TV and turning on his DVD player.

“A tega-what?” Chris frowns.

“Sorry, I slip into my medical jargon sometimes, because most of the people I hang out with in my free time also work at the hospital,” Darren chuckles. “It's just a brand name for a type of dressing. Do you have a sort of clear, plastic thing over your incisions?”

“Oh, yeah, I do,” he nods.

“Thought so. Basically, you can start using the Vitamin E gel once the stitches come out and those come off,” Darren patiently explains. He hits the button to open the DVD tray and slides out a disc, laughing as he reads it. “So, who was watching Peter Pan recently?” he asks, holding up the DVD.

“Um,” Chris blushes, “that would be me. Sorry, Disney movies are my movie equivalent of comfort food, more or less.”

“What are you apologizing for, silly?” Darren gasps in mock horror. “That wasn't me judging you for your choice of entertainment. I'm probably the biggest Disney fan out there, and I definitely don't subscribe to the belief that animated films are only for kids.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason.” Chris grins back at Darren.

“ _A_  reason? As in only one reason? That sounds like a backhanded compliment if ever there was one,” Darren pouts, pretending to be insulted.

Chris rolls his eyes. “And you say  _I'm_  the insecure one,” he tuts. “Do I need to make you a list of everything I like about you? Usually the guys I go out with wait until at least date five or six to demand the list.”

“I mean this is already date four, so I'm not that far off,” Darren points out.

“Date four?” How do you figure?” Chris frowns.

“Date one was our night in the recovery room, date two was our virtual Doctor Who watching session, date three was breakfast in the hospital cafeteria, and tonight is date four,” Darren explains, ticking off each one on his fingers.

“Uh, at least two of those probably don't count, but nice try,” Chris scoffs. “I don't think you can claim our first meeting as a date when I was high on Morphine and passing out on you every five minutes. You certainly can't count that night as not one but two dates, especially when we weren't even together for the second half of the evening.”

“We were together in spirit though and that's what counts,” Darren insists, sticking out his tongue at Chris. “Also you've been drugged up on every single date we've had except for this one, so by your criteria this would be our first date,”

“Hey, the night's still young,” he chuckles. “Plenty of time for me to get doped up on Vicodin.”

“Touche,” Darren giggles. “Although I hope it won't come to that since you're on couch arrest.”

“How long before I get downgraded to couch probation?” Chris asks. “Maybe I could make it worth your while,” he teases, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Why Christopher Colfer, are you trying to bribe me with sexual favors?” Darren gasps, pretending to be scandalized.

“A prisoner's got to do what a prisoner's got to do,” Chris shrugs, playing along. “It's the only bargaining chip I've got on the inside.”

Darren laughs long and hard at that. He replaces the Peter Pan DVD in the case resting atop the player and stands, making his way back over to Chris. He sits down on the couch just inches away, not seeming all that interested in personal space. Up close, Chris can admire just how gorgeous Darren is and the way his clean, masculine scent invades his nostrils. He feels the familiar flood of want deep in the pit of his stomach at the realization that tonight they are definitely going to kiss for the first time. It's rare for Chris to meet someone that he is equally attracted to for their shared conversational ability and physical chemistry. He thinks back to the way his skin tingled with electricity every single time Darren's touched him, hopefully the perfect promise for what is to come.

“So...” Darren murmurs softly, gazing into Chris's eyes. “There's something I've been wanting to do for a while now.”

“Y-yeah?” Chris replies, pulse quickening.

“Yes,” Darren says, dropping his gaze to Chris's lips for a moment. Chris nods almost imperceptibly, stomach fluttering with anticipation.

“You should – you should definitely do it then. No time like the present,” Chris encourages. He both loves and hates how Darren is drawing it out, teasing him with his slow and deliberate movements.

Darren nods once, eyes going dark with intent. He reaches out and cups Chris's face with his hand, thumb stroking across his cheek while his fingers curl along the line of Chris's jaw. Darren draws him nearer and then leans in, inhaling a shuddering breath just before their lips brush for the first time.

The kiss starts soft and sweet. It's not quite tentative, because Darren seems to know exactly what he wants, but Chris appreciates that he's not rushing it either. Chris melts into it, into  _him_ , hand coming up to rest gently at the back of Darren's neck. He parts his lips ever so slightly, giving Darren permission to take things further. It's clearly the encouragement he's been waiting for, as seconds later Darren's tongue is running along the seam of his lips, seeking entrance. Chris is all too happy to oblige, threading his fingers through the curls at the nape of Darren's neck, needing something to anchor him to the earth as Darren's tongue slicks wetly against his own, making him shiver. When he tugs on Darren's hair ever so slightly, Darren groans audibly, his mouth vibrating against Chris's own.

From there, the kisses grow more and more heated as Darren gains confidence. Chris grows bolder as well, taking the opportunity to let his wandering hands explore the muscled plains of Darren's neck, chest, and back. It's everything he'd wanted and then some, their mouths and bodies fitting together in ways it usually takes months of practice to achieve. And even then, Chris doesn't know that he's ever dated someone who made him feel  _this_  good. Usually kissing is just the warm-up, the perfunctory foreplay that's expected but fairly dull on its own. Personally, Chris hasn't been all that interested in kissing for kissing's sake since college, but he thinks he could happily kiss Darren for  _hours._ If this is how good their first kiss is, Chris can't even begin to imagine how mind blowing sex with Darren must be.

As if he's reading Chris's mind, Darren takes that moment as the perfect time to begin suckling and nipping at his lower lip. It's just... so  _good_  that Chris moans with the unexpected pleasure of it. That seems to spur Darren on, as he nips and sucks along the hinge of Chris's jaw, leaving a heated trail of abused and tingling flesh in his wake. Then, he's placing one final kiss to Chris's lips, a delicate caress in contrast to his earlier ministrations before they break apart, both panting and more than a little drunk on one another.

“Fuck,” Darren gasps, pressing his forehead to Chris's while he tries to catch his breath. “That was...  _wow_.”

“Yeah,” Chris agrees, his voice husky and pitched an octave lower with how turned on he is. “It was definitely that.”

“You know I'm crazy about you, right?” Darren murmurs. “Just in case that wasn't already abundantly clear.”

“Oh,” Chris breathes, overwhelmed. “I – I like you too.”

“Well, that works out pretty well for me,” Darren practically cheers. “It's always awkward when my dates don't like me back.”

“...does that happen to you a lot?” Chris teases.

“No, not really,” Darren smirks, pretending to flip his hair cockily. “But I assume it would be awkward, probably.”

Chris is only half listening because he's kind of hypnotized how shiny and bouncy Darren's curls look up close. He wonders if they would be as soft to the touch as they appear to be. Then he realizes that he  _can_  touch them, since Darren's just kissed him and told him that he's crazy about him. He reaches out tentatively and twines a curl around his finger, tugging on it before letting go and watching it immediately spring back into place.

“Did you just boing my curl?” Darren laughs.

“Um... yes?” Chris admits. “Sorry?”

“Don't be,” Darren says, only laughing harder. “Although you are a bit of tease. I was hoping for the full playing-with-the-hair experience, not just you treating one curl like your own personal Slinky.”

“I mean... if you insist,” Chris huffs with mock exasperation, as if being compelled to play with Darren's hair is a particularly tiresome chore. He reaches out and runs his fingers through Darren's hair. It's every bit as soft and silky as he imagined it would be. Darren makes a low, contented noise in his throat and tips his head towards Chris to allow him better access.

“There, happy now?” Chris asks after a moment, stilling his fingers in Darren's hair.

“Yep,” Darren grins, then leans in and plants a quick kiss on Chris's lips, taking him by surprise.

“Okay, your turn now,” Darren announces as he pulls back, still cupping Chris's cheek.

“My turn for what?”

“The full playing-with-the-hair experience, duh,” Darren says, as if it should be obvious. “Since you are secretly a very tactile person and all.”

“Oh,  _that_ ,” Chris says with a smile.

“Although maybe I should start the movie first? Give you something to focus on so you don't immediately fall asleep on me and make this world's shortest date?” Darren suggests.

“Sounds like a good plan,” Chris agrees.

Darren grabs the two remotes sitting on the coffee table and passes them over to Chris, letting him handle turning on the TV, switching to the correct input, turning on the DVD player, and navigating through the DVD menu to start the movie. Once the opening credits are rolling, Chris hands the remotes to Darren and settles back against the couch. He's sitting pretty close to Darren; they aren't quite touching, though he hopes Darren might correct that soon.

“Do you want to lay down or stay upright?” Darren asks. “There's plenty of room to stretch out if you'd be more comfortable that way.”

“I think I'll stay vertical for now,” Chris replies. “That's probably best for staying awake and paying attention to the movie.”

“Okay,” Darren murmurs. He stretches his arm over the back of the couch and across Chris's shoulders, gently tucking him in closer until Chris is pressed up against Darren's body. “You can put your head on my shoulder if you want,” he adds, almost shyly.

“If you insist,” Chris smiles and rests his head against Darren. As soon as he does, Darren's hand is gliding from Chris's arm up to the back of his neck and into his hair. Chris shivers at the sensation.

“Cold?” Darren inquires, peering down at him,

“A little,” Chris hums.

Darren swipes a chenille throw off the back of the couch and drapes it loosely across both their laps. “Okay movie's starting, pay attention,” he encourages as the first scene begins.

“Yes, Mr. Bossy Pants,” Chris says. He can hear how slurred his words come out, but it's less from being tired or doped up and more from the haze of deep contentment he's fallen into from being so cozy and close to Darren.

Darren chuckles, his hand momentarily stilling in Chris's hair. “Hey, I'm only bossing you around now because you seem physically incapable of resting and taking it easy post-surgery, and I'd prefer you stay alive and one piece if at all possible. I don't put  _all_  my dates on couch arrest, only the really stubborn ones.”

“Guess I just must be extra special to you,” Chris adds, mostly joking.

“Of course, you definitely are,” Darren agrees, his voice serious.

Chris peers up at him and swallows hard when he realizes that Darren means every word of what he's saying. “Oh,” is all he manages in reply.

Darren smiles and kisses the top of his head. “Besides, something tells me you have even more potential for bossiness than I do,” he teases.

“That's... probably true,” Chris admits. “But shh, I'm supposed to be paying attention to this movie.”

Chris focuses back on the television screen. “Hey, isn't that the little kid from the Wonder Years?” he asks, looking at the young boy in bed reading a book with his grandfather.

“Yep. I just figured you'd be too young to recognize him from that,” Darren tells him.

“I'm not even four years younger than you. You'd think I was eighteen from the way you go on and on about it though,” Chris tuts. “But yeah, my mom liked the show so we used to watch the reruns on Nick at Night together.”

“It's not often that I get to be the older and wiser one in a relationship, okay? Let me have my moment to revel in it,” Darren scoffs.

“Definitely older, but I think the jury is still out on wiser,” Chris says, because he can't resist the urge to tease Darren one final time. “But okay seriously, paying attention to the movie now.”

“You better, because there will be a test afterwards,” Darren whispers as he tips his head down to rest against Chris's.

Chris takes a moment to luxuriate in the quiet moment. A week ago he was puking his guts out in the ER thanks to a particularly bad attack of gallstones with only Ashley to lean on for support. Somewhere in the long, miserable waiting period before they'd finally decided he needed surgery, Chris had started questioning literally every decision he'd made that had led him to feeling so awful, not just physically but emotionally as well. The answers hadn't been easy to come by and the solutions even more elusive. Now, a week later, he's somehow found himself cuddled up to the cutest boy he's ever dated, feeling like he's known Darren half his life rather than less than a week. He's stupidly grateful for the seemingly random twist of fate that allowed all of this to come true. Chris wonders when it'll stop seeming like an amazing dream he's about to wake up from and start to feel  _real_.

* * *

 “Well, what did you think?” Darren asks as the music swells and the credits roll on the movie an hour and a half later. He grabs the remote off the coffee table and mutes the TV, looking to Chris expectantly.

“I get your joke about iocaine powder now,” Chris proclaims proudly. “But if I have nightmares about giant rats tonight, I'm blaming you.”

“Don't worry, I'll save you from the rodents of unusual size,” Darren promises. He reluctantly untangles himself from Chris's embrace and sits forward. “I should probably put this away,” he says, picking up the two bowls leftover from dinner. “You didn't eat very much. Not hungry or just not a fan of the pho?”

“Not hungry. Definitely a fan of the pho,” Chris tells him truthfully.

“Good. Well, it's not good that you aren't hungry, but I'm glad that you liked the takeout. I'm going to leave the leftovers in your fridge for you to finish off later in that case,” Darren announces as he stands and brings the bowls over to the sink.

“You don't have to wash the dishes. Just leave them in the sink. Or you  _could_  let me off the couch and I'll wash them myself?” Chris suggests, shooting Darren his most convincing smile.

“Nice try, but you're still under couch arrest, no matter how many times you bat your eyelashes at me,” Darren scoffs.

“There was not batting, and boo, you're no fun. Get back over here and entertain me then,” Chris requests.

“So demanding,” Darren says, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “And okay fine, I'll leave the dishes for now, but just remember that it was only because you  _begged_  me to, not because of laziness or poor manners on my part.”

“I don't think that word means what you think it means,” Chris shoots back. It sounds familiar, but it takes him a moment to realize he's quoting Inigo Montoya from the movie.

“So you were paying attention!” Darren crows triumphantly while he rinses off his soapy hands and then grabs a towel to dry them. And  _believe me_ , I know what the word begging means,” he adds, with just enough edge to make Chris shiver at the implications.

“That remains to be seen,” Chris replies darkly, enjoying the look of shock and sudden lust that flashes across Darren's face.

He tosses the used towel to the counter and strides back over to the couch quickly. He sits down mere inches away from Chris, taking his face gently in both hands. “You can't just say things like that and expect me not to kiss you, Chris,” he murmurs, his voice pitched an octave lower than a minutes ago.

“Guess you'll have to kiss me, then,” Chris replies, smiling wickedly.

“Ah, was this your master plan all along?” Darren whispers as he leans in.

“Maybe,” Chris whispers back as their noses brush. Then their lips are brushing for the second time this evening and he doesn't have space in his brain for anything other than how much he likes kissing Darren. It's just...  _good_. Good in a way he's not used to first (or second, third, or even tenth) kisses with someone new being. It's like, once in a lifetime level good, and Chris is grateful he's waited until now to find that with Darren, until he was old and wise enough to truly appreciate how lucky he is. He only hopes that he's smart enough now not to fuck it up or let Darren slip through his fingers. He's not sure if he could bear that.

By the time Chris comes back to himself, Darren's got his tongue in his mouth and he's making these soft, shocked noises against his lips. It's  _really_  working for Chris, so he twines his fingers in the curls at the nape of Darren's neck and holds him in place so he can take control of the kiss. Darren only grows more vocal as he does, his noises louder and more encouraging, like gasoline thrown on the fire of Chris's desire for him.

Chris loses time after that; it’s definitely been minutes, although it could have been hours with how wrapped up in Darren he is. It's hard to focus on anything aside from the heat all around him, the slick feeling of Darren's tongue in his mouth, and the soft curls he's grasping in his fist, currently the only thing anchoring him to the earth. But the position is starting to get a little awkward, his arm cramping where it's pinned between Darren's back and the couch. His stomach is also mildly protesting the way he's leaning forward. It's a manageable twinge, currently, but Chris would really prefer to keep it that way. Otherwise, this date is going to be over a lot sooner than he wants it to be. However, by far the biggest issue is the hunger for air that's growing more and more desperate by the moment. He wonders idly if it's possible to suffocate from kissing too passionately. If so, he figures it's a better way to go than most, especially when Darren's the person he's kissing.

Eventually, Chris reluctantly breaks apart from Darren. He laughs, though not meanly, as Darren whines in protest when he has to pull away. “Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely, barely recognizing his own voice as he presses their foreheads together while he gulps air like a drowning man.

Darren pouts at him and pants against his cheek. Still, he doesn't seem nearly as winded as Chris is.

“Do you have super-powered lungs built for kissing or something?” Chris asks, half serious.

“I... what? Is that a thing?” Darren replies, a puzzled but bemused expression on his face.

“I don't know. You tell me,” Chris manages between fits of laughter and deep, hungry inhales of oxygen.

“I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but no, I don't think that's a thing. Certainly not a thing I possess, if so. I don't think medical science has the capital to make that dream a reality just yet,” Darren tells him.

“I thought I was going to suffocate from kissing,” Chris tries to explain, badly. “And you were still going strong, not even a little starved for air. It was  _impressive_.”

“God, please don't die because you were too polite to be like 'hey idiot, stop kissing me for a second so I can breathe,' okay? Because that would be a hard one to explain to the police when they showed up to arrest me for murder,” Darren entreats.

“I'm not that polite,” Chris promises, grinning. “No worries, I'll live to fight another day.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Sorry if I got a little carried away?” he apologizes, though Chris notices how Darren's gaze drops to his lips again briefly even as he's saying it.

“We were both carried away, together, because of the kissing,” Chris assures him.

Darren smiles softly at him. There's a long, charged moment before Chris leans in with intent, but he's only halfway there when he's stopped by a full-on stabbing pain in his side. Unfortunately, it couldn't have come at a worse time.

Chris gasps and stops moving immediately, one hand dropping down to rub at the painful spot.

Darren's face goes grave in an instant. “Chris?”

Chris doesn't answer Darren right away, because he doesn't trust his voice and it's hard to focus on anything aside from a sensation akin to someone jabbing him in the stomach with a red hot fire poker.

Undeterred by the silence, Darren hovers over him worriedly and places a hand on his shoulder. “What's wrong? Talk to me.”

Chris feels bad that he's worrying Darren, but he finds it nearly impossible to think or explain while he still feels like he's dying. Instead, he just drops his forehead to rest on Darren's shoulder. “Give me a sec,” he grits out.

“Okay,” Darren breathes. He smoothes his palm up and down the length of Chris's spine, waiting for the pain to pass along with him.

Chris exhales slowly. Since the surgery, it's become a nightly rite of passage for him to arrive at the point of the evening at which his body starts to make its protest at being upright known to him. Usually, it's not quite this loudly and vehemently, but still, every single time he has to remind himself that he's not dying – that he just needs to take his pain medicine and get in bed and he'll be fine in the morning. And so far that has proven to be true, but it doesn't make those moments of painful limbo suck any less.

He'd been hoping for a reprieve tonight, but clearly that wasn't in the cards for him. It's not really surprising given how many chores he did this afternoon to get the apartment into presentable condition for his date. It's definitely disappointing though, because he knows the second he tells Darren he probably needs to take his medicine and lay down, the date's over. And he really, really doesn't want it to be over yet. He wants his body to cooperate so he can go back to kissing Darren, dammit. Is that really so much to ask?

Darren's still quiet, stroking his back and hair and just... waiting. But Chris knows that the waiting is killing him by the tension in his whole body and the jerky, uncoordinated movements of his hand as he makes a path up and down his back and neck. He's obviously concerned and Chris doesn't want him to be, especially not over something as stupid as a stitch in his side. So, Chris plasters a placid expression on his face and slowly,  _carefully_  lifts his head from Darren's shoulder.

He keeps his hand protectively cupped around the incision that's been giving him the most trouble for the past few days, hoping that will suffice until he can lay down. “So... sorry about that, but all is well now. Not dying,” Chris announces, probably a little too brightly in a vain attempt to overcompensate.

Darren doesn't seem wholly convinced. “Are you sure?” he prods as he scans Chris's face and body, employing some sort of nurse x-ray vision that Chris hasn't quite figured out yet. All Chris knows is that when he feels like shit, Darren is usually the first to know. It's both sweet and really, really problematic at times like these, when Chris wants him to believe he's perfectly fine even though he's not.

“Positive,” Chris insists with a toothy smile.

“Sorry, nope, not buying it. Try again,” Darren tells him, seeing through his facade fairly quickly.

Chris sighs heavily. “Do you have nurse ESP or something? It's seriously unnerving.”

“Maybe I'm just really good at reading people,” Darren suggests. “And that still doesn't answer my question.”

“Don't know that I'm buying that either, sorry,” Chris replies, trying at misdirection.

“Well, even if I'm not good at reading people in general, I'm good at reading you,” Darren shrugs.

“That's really inconvenient for me,” Chris admits.

“Yeah well, I'd say I'm sorry about that except that I'm not,” Darren responds. “Now will you please tell me what's wrong so I can fix it or at least try to help? You're killing me over here.”

“Over here meaning like five inches away from me?” Chris says with an appraising raise of his eyebrows.

“Chris. Stop stalling,” Darren scolds, his expression making it clear that he means business now.

“Fiiiine,” Chris huffs exasperatedly. “My side hurts, the spot where the big incision was. It really only happens at the end of the day when I've been sitting up for a long time. It's not a big deal.”

“Okay then, it sounds like we just need to get you laying down,” Darren nods resolutely. He stands carefully, asking,“where are your pain meds?”

Chris sighs heavily. “Over there, on the counter next to the refrigerator,” he points, since he knows refusing to tell Darren will only delay the inevitable for a few minutes, at best. “But I don't want to take them yet.”

“Why not?” Darren asks while retrieving them.

“Because I'm not ready for you to leave yet,” Chris pouts.

“Wasn't planning on leaving, at least not until you're ready to kick me out,” Darren swears. “Do you have any Diet Coke left?” he calls from the kitchen.

“Um, nope.” Chris wants to make a joke about how the longest a Diet Coke lasts around him is five minutes, but it seems like a lot of work and he's just not feeling up to it.

“Water it is,” Darren announces, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and making his way back over to the couch.

“So, my suggestion was going to be that you take your meds and then get cozy in bed and I'll hang out until you are ready for me to leave or until you fall asleep, whichever happens first. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect,” Chris replies, the relief evident on his face.

“Good.” Darren grins back at him. “Now be a big boy and take your medicine,” he says, handing him a pill and bottle of water.

“I hate you so much,” Chris grumbles.

“Honey, that would be a bit more convincing if you hadn't been making out with me five minutes ago.”

“I could learn to start hating you, maybe,” Chris protests weakly.

“How could you hate all this adorable?” Darren teases, gesturing to himself. “I'm very difficult to hate.”

“You really are,” Chris finally caves. “I'd have to work at it a lot. Hours of toiling. I'm exhausted just thinking about it, to be honest.”

“You know what they always say: practice makes perfect.” Darren replaces the lid on the prescription bottle and sits it on the coffee table. “Sure you aren't just exhausted in general, though?” he inquires.

“Perhaps,” Chris concedes. “I've had the bedtime of an elderly shut-in for the last week, so...”

“I noticed. I have quite enjoyed your gibberish texts when you fall asleep on me mid-episode of Doctor Who. They're pretty amusing,” Darren chuckles.

“God, don't remind me.” Chris blushes and ducks his head.

“Shh no, don't be embarrassed. It was cute. You're cute,” Darren promises.

“Glad my half-asleep gibberish texts are cute to you, I guess?” Chris shrugs helplessly.

Darren digs his phone out of his pocket and scrolls back a little way. “This one was my favorite.”

Chris takes the phone from him and reads the text at the top of the message window with a giggle.

Chris (9:18 PM): DON'T BLINERKKKKllpioppp

“That was from the Weeping Angels episode, I assume? I was going for 'Don't blink' but then Vicodin and sleep happened and... I failed,” he sighs, pretending to hang his head in shame.

“You know, funnily enough I managed to crack your secret code. I'm just smart that way. Also they said 'don't blink' like, two seconds after you sent me that text,” Darren banters back.

“Huh, maybe in addition to being older, you actually are wiser after all,” Chris says, yawning.

“I want to celebrate that statement, but I think we should probably get you in bed first. Otherwise, I'm liable to babble on until you fall asleep and I have to carry you to bed,” Darren responds.

“Mmm, is you carrying me to bed even though I'm awake an option?” Chris mumbles. “Moving seems like such hard work right now.”

“Uh, I mean I probably could if you really want or need me–”

“I was kidding,” Chris interjects. “Or maybe not kidding, exactly, because ugh effort, but somehow I think I'll manage to shuffle the roughly thirty paces to my bed.”

“Okay then, ready to stand up?” Darren asks. He stands and offers a hand to Chris to help him to his feet.

“Not even a little. It's going to hurt,” Chris sighs. But he still makes himself slide to the end of the couch and grip Darren's hand. He takes a deep breath and then drags himself to standing position with a muffled groan.

“You're alright,” Darren whispers soothingly as he holds Chris steady. “I've got you.”

“Good,” Chris says, leaning on him a bit more for support. “Bedroom's that way,” he adds, gesturing in the vague direction of the door at the end of a single hallway.

“I kind of figured,” Darren chuckles. “You're just really eager to get into my pants, huh?”

“No, I'm eager to get out of my pants and into a horizontal position,” Chris grumbles. Darren shoots him a delighted grin.

“God, you suck so much. Must you make  _everything_  sexual when I'm dying over here?” Chris groans as he shoves open his bedroom door and lets Darren support him over the threshold.

“Sorry,” Darren pouts, looking chastened. “But look, you made it. You climbed that mountain. And for your reward, may I present... your bed,” Darren intones, making a sweeping, Vanna White-esque hand gesture.

He gently lowers Chris onto the edge of the bed. “Did you survive the journey in one piece?” he asks, frowning as he watches Chris wince and rub his stomach.

“More or less, but still, ow...” Chris groans.

“Poor thing,” Darren tuts sympathetically. He cups Chris's cheek and kisses his forehead. “Does that help any?” he asks, mostly kidding.

“Not as much as a real kiss would, but yeah, it helps a little,” Chris hums agreeably.

“Once we get you changed and properly into bed, real kisses are definitely negotiable,” Darren promises.

Chris raises an eyebrow. “Is changing me into pajamas going to be a group activity?” he wonders with obvious amusement.

“I can definitely help if you need me to? Or if you just want me to because you're feeling tired or lazy...” Darren rambles awkwardly.

“How charitable of you,” Chris teases. “Such a philanthropist.”

“Well, I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself or pass out or–” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He finally chances a look at Chris and sees that he's barely holding back helpless peals of laughter. “Oh I see, you're just fucking with me for your own amusement.”

“I am that – amused,” Chris giggles. “Also halfway to high which probably helps.”

“You're mean when you're high,” Darren moans, his cheeks flushing beet red with humiliation.

“Pfft. Please, you think I'm totally awesome and cute. Admit it,” Chris needles Darren.

“Haven't I already tonight? Does your ego that much stroking, Christopher?” Darren teases right back.

“I don't think it was my ego you were hoping to stroke when you offered to help me change, let's be real,” Chris sputters. Darren just shakes his head at him, even as he's struggling to hold in his own laughter.

“Where are your PJs?” Darren asks, switching gears.

“Top two drawers,” Chris replies, pointing towards the large wooden dresser opposite his bed. Any t-shirt and pair of sweatpants will do.”

Darren returns a moment later with a grey Harry Potter t-shirt and navy cotton sweatpants. “How about I just give you these and then get out of your hair for a minute while you change?” he suggests. “Unless you think you need my help to get dressed safely?”

“Somehow I think I'll manage on my own, just like I have every other night since I got home from the hospital,” Chris predicts as he accepts the change of clothes from Darren.

“Okay, I'll be uh, out there,” Darren replies, pointing towards the living room. “Just yell if you need me.”

Chris nods, watching Darren reluctantly shuffle out of the bedroom and shut the door behind him. He tries to imagine what pajama-related emergency might necessitate calling for Darren's help. Maybe he could get the shirt stuck over his head and need Darren's assistance to free himself? Or perhaps an alien invasion could happen at a critical moment in pants changing and cause him to fall over? So many possibilities, almost all of them utterly absurd and ridiculous, just like Darren.

He makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt, sighing in gratitude that he forwent the undershirt for the evening so there's less material to remove. He tugs the t-shirt on over his head, sucking in a sharp breath at the quick flash of a pain in his side as he lifts his arm away from his side. Thankfully, it's over as quickly as it began, leaving behind only a faint ache. Chris unbuttons and unzips his jeans next, cursing himself for his wardrobe selection when it takes a fair amount of shimmying and tugging to get his snug skinny jeans off his ass and over his muscled thighs. By the time they are pooled at his ankles and being kicked off, Chris has officially worked up a sweat and is ready to collapse in a heap. But instead, he slips on the baggy sweatpants, lifting his hips to tug them all the way up to his waist.

“Coast is clear,” he calls out loudly to Darren.

Darren opens the door and covers his eyes exaggeratedly as he asks “You decent?”

“Yup,” Chris announces, somewhere between sleepy and proud.

“Good job,” Darren congratulates him,

“You should start a new online service – Darren's virtual encouragement for really basic hygiene and household tasks. I'm sure it could be a best-seller with the proper marketing. People would love to have someone as cute and cheerful as you to congratulate them for putting on a clean shirt or unloading the dishwasher,” Chris babbles.

“You think? I'll definitely look into that, weirdo,” Darren shakes his head in bemusement. “But more importantly, ready to lay down?”

“God yes,” Chris groans.

Darren helps him stand again and herds him from the end of the bed around to the left side right next to his pillow. “Hang on, hang on,” he warns when Chris goes to sit down, pulling back the duvet and sheets first. “Okay, good now,” he announces at last and helps Chris crawl underneath the blanket and stretch out.

Darren returns to the bedroom door and closes it behind them, then flips off the overhead light, leaving on only the lamp on the bedside table.

“Not supposed to leave, you promised,” Chris warns, his eyes sleepily tracking his path across the room.

“Just setting the mood lighting,” Darren jokes. “Definitely not leaving yet.”

He walks around to the opposite side of the bed and lays down, rolling onto his side to face Chris. “Hi,” he greets him.

“Hi,” Chris replies. He feels instantly better with Darren right beside him again.

“How's your stomach feeling?” Darren asks.

“Kinda twingey? Assuming that's a word,” Chris slurs. “Definitely a lot better than before, though.”

“Not sure if it's an actual word, but I'm glad to hear it regardless,” Darren tells Chris, running his thumb along the line of his jaw. “Is it feeling okay enough for you to make out with me again?”

“Most definitely,” Chris answers eagerly. “Let's do that.”

“As you wish,” Darren murmurs, hovering over him for a long moment as he strokes Chris's cheek.

Chris is out of patience, given how interminably long the interlude to change into his pajamas and get in bed has felt. He's not sure if it's due to the lowered inhibitions from being doped up on painkillers or just how much he wants Darren in the moment, but he doesn't feel the least bit of shame as cups his hand around the back of Darren's neck and drags him down for a needy, open-mouthed kiss.

Darren, for his part, returns the kiss eagerly, with the same level of enthusiasm he's brought to every other task where Chris was concerned. It's even better now with Chris flat on his back and Darren above him. Chris's hands roam free from Darren's hair to his neck and shoulders. He only gets bolder from there, tugging at the back of Darren's shirt until it springs free from where it's loosely tucked into his jeans. His hands skim back upwards, this time finding a sliver of warm, bare skin at the small of Darren's back that he hungrily maps with one hand while he parts his lips wider to give Darren better access.

The world starts to narrow to only the two of them. Darren above him, his weight resting on him just the perfect amount. Darren's encouraging pants and whimpers that only grow in frequency and volume as Chris's fingers tangle in his hair and tug. How warm and safe and desired Darren makes Chris feel. Normally his brain would be going a mile a minute by now, trying to find something wrong with Darren, not believing that anything this good could be real. It should seem like a magic trick or prank, having someone so hot and funny and smart and  _sweet_  express such clear interest in him, especially so soon. But for once in his life, Chris isn't questioning it; he's just letting himself feel and experience, keeping himself in the present moment instead of trying to predict the future. It's refreshing.

Chris starts to feel pleasantly floaty and drunk on Darren. He's just so warm and content, his mind blanked out and focused solely on sensations and not thoughts. His arms feel heavy though, so he lets them rest on Darren's back as he sinks into the haze, down into the mattress and Darren, trusting that he'll catch Chris if he falls.

“Chris?” Darren calls tentatively.

“Hmm?” Chris hums quietly, eyes still closed.

Darren pulls back with a chuckle.

“Wait no, where are you going? Come back here,” he whines, reaching for Darren with clumsy uncoordinated movements.

“Typically I try to make sure that the person I'm making out with is conscious during it. What can I say? I'm just picky like that.” Chris cracks one eye open and is relieved to see that Darren looks amused rather than frustrated.

“I am conscious,” he slurs. “Mostly.”

Darren laughs and tweaks his nose with his index finger. "God, you are so cute."

“Exactly, so get back over here and appreciate my cuteness by making out with me,” Chris grins sleepily.

“I've got a counter offer,” Darren says. He rolls back onto his side, resting his head on the pillow next to Chris. "C'mere," he requests, helping Chris reposition himself until Chris's head is pillowed on his chest. He threads his fingers through the back of Chris's hair, earning an appreciative moan.

“That's not fighting fair,” Chris pouts.

“Muahaha, I've found your weak spot,” Darren feigns evil laughter.

“What's your weak spot?” Chris asks.

“You,” Darren replies immediately, as if the answer was obvious. “Just  _you_.”

“Oh.” Chris feels Darren kiss the top of his head. “I'm sleepy,” he whispers, feeling the need to warn Darren before he passes out on his chest and starts drooling. Even as he says it, he can feel his limbs getting heavier.

“Then sleep,” Darren whispers back.

Chris sighs, forcing himself to stay awake until he can ask for one more thing. "Stay?"

“Do I look like I'm about to go anywhere?” Darren chuckles softly, stroking his hair.

Chris drags his eyes open with considerable effort, tilting his head to look up at Darren in the dim light. "No, I mean stay the night. Can you?"

"Uh," Darren holds Chris's gaze. "I, yeah, if you're sure?"

“Positive.” He lets his head drop back to Darren's chest and closes his eyes again. “You can borrow pjs or anything you might need,” he mumbles.

Darren's quiet for a moment and Chris senses that he's deliberating over something in his mind. Finally he says, "to be honest I'm not much of a pajamas guy? I usually just sleep in boxers."

“That works too,” Chris replies, wondering if he sounds as eager as he feels.

"Okay," Darren says, more to himself than to Chris. "Right, okay, let me just..." He carefully extricates himself from Chris's grasp and hops off the bed. “I'll be right back. Don't move.”

Chris nods and settles his head on the pillow, already missing Darren's warmth. “Hurry up, the bed is cold without you,” he murmurs

Chris drifts until Darren reenters the room. He cracks one eye open at the sound of rustling and watches Darren stride across the room. He walks over to the side of the bed, carefully laying out the three pill bottles that hold his post-op medications on the nightstand. Next to that, he sits a bottle of Gatorade. "Just in case," Darren explains.

Chris smiles at the sweet gesture. “You really like taking care of people, don't you?”

“No.”

“No?” Chris is confused.

“I'm used to taking care of people. I like taking care of  _you_. There's a difference.”

“Oh.” Chris is quiet for a moment, thinking about how much to share. “I don't usually let people take care of me. Never been a big fan of that.”

“You could've fooled me,” Darren's voice is sleepy and warm. Chris holds up the duvet and he crawls back into bed, now stripped down to a pair of black boxer briefs that leave little to the imagination. Chris wishes he were more alert and conscious, if only to ogle Darren properly. He hopes he'll still have the mental image in the morning if nothing else.

Darren switches off the lamp on the nightstand and settles into bed beside Chris, immediately reaching for him. Chris lets himself be guided until his head is resting on Darren's bare chest. He's warmed by the heat from Darren's body and somehow that makes him feel brave enough to share a little more. “It's different when it's you. I don't mind it as much. I kinda like it, if I'm being completely honest.”

“Well, I kinda like you.”

“Kinda?” Chris huffs, mostly teasing.

Darren laughs and the vibrations from the laughter tickle Chris's cheek. “No, I  _really_  like you, if I'm being honest.”

Chris's breath hitches slightly at those words, overwhelmed by how much he already feels for Darren. He's never dated someone who made him feel so much so soon or who so readily shared exactly how he felt about Chris. Emboldened by Darren's confession, he shares again. “I really like you too.”

“Aren't you glad we didn't wait until Friday for our date?” Darren prompts. Chris can't decide if he's being smug or just falling for him that fast. He suspects it's the latter.

“Mhm,” he yawns.

“I mean just think of all the life experiences you would have missed out on. You still wouldn't know how good The Princess Bride was, for starters. “

“You're talking  _so much_ ,” Chris murmurs.

“Sorry, I do that,” Darren apologizes.

“It's okay,” Chris reassures. “I just can't.” Then he drowsily clarifies, “talk that much, I mean.”

“Go to sleep,” Darren says with such fondness that it makes Chris  _ache_. He feels Darren press yet another kiss to his hair and then he resumes carding his fingers through the strands.

“You can keep doing that,” Chris all but purrs

Darren chuckles. “I seriously think you must have been a cat in a previous life.”

“Sleepy kitty,” Chris thinks, or says. He really can't be sure because he's drifting into dreamland by the end of the sentence.


	4. Chapter 4

Chris awakes to a burning pain in his side. He lays there in the darkness for several minutes, eyes still closed, pleading with his body to relax so he can fall back asleep. He's sleepy and warm and otherwise content and he thinks that maybe, just  _maybe_  if he refuses to acknowledge the pain, it'll cease to exist. It's a fairly logic-free idea but Chris is too tired to think rationally.

After a few minutes, he gives up and sighs, dragging his eyes open. There's the faintest hint of light seeping beneath the wooden slats of his window blinds, but he's pretty sure it can't be much later than dawn. Still disoriented between the tiredness and pain, he doesn't remember that Darren slept over until he lifts his head to peer at the digital display on his alarm clock and hears Darren snuffle and shift beneath him.  _5:02 AM._  Way too early to be properly awake and certainly too early to wake Darren, even if his stomach is throbbing and he could really use his help to reach the painkillers.

Instead, Chris tries to reposition himself, hoping that maybe he can find a way to make himself more comfortable by taking the pressure off his right side. He gingerly lifts himself from Darren's chest and starts to straighten his hips, intending to lay flat on his back. But as he tries to move, he feels a stabbing pain in the largest of his four incisions that takes his breath away. He gasps audibly and grabs at Darren's bicep as he goes still and rigid, praying for the pain to stop.

Unfortunately, it's enough to cause Darren to stir. “Chris?” he mumbles sleepily. Chris tries to answer him but it still hurts so much that all he can manage is a muffled squeak.

The sound must concern Darren because he rolls over so he can see him, sounding more awake as he asks, “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

“Hurts,” Chris grits out and squeezes Darren's shoulder even harder.

“Shit. Okay, hang on.” Darren leans away from Chris for a second and then the lamp on the nightstand is clicked on and the room is illuminated in soft light. Darren's hands are on him immediately, searching his face and scanning his body for injury. Chris blows out a shaky breath and swallows hard.

“Hey, talk to me,” he requests, sounding worried. Chris hates that he woke Darren up, hates that he worried him, hates that he ruined their fun night with his weakness. He just hates  _everything_ right now. He doesn't trust his ability to speak yet so he bites his lip to keep from crying out.

When Chris doesn't say anything, Darren looks down and notices how his hand is clamped over his lower right side. He carefully places his hand over Chris's and slowly peels it away from his stomach. Then he pulls up Chris's shirt. “Is this okay?” he asks as he does it.

Chris wants to shake his head no because he's well aware of how his torso looks right now, a patchwork quilt of bruises and scars and stitches covered by clear dressings that only serve to make everything look more awful. But he also knows that Darren's seen worse in his job as a nurse and it's painful enough that he wants reassurance that he didn't manage to pop a stitch or wind up with an infected incision somehow.

“Yikes,” Darren winces in sympathy as he sees the large purpling bruise that takes up the majority of Chris's right side. “That's some... pretty impressive bruising you've got there.” Darren's obviously trying to keep his voice light, but Chris wonders if things are worse than they seem or if he's just finding the whole thing as repellent as Chris had when he looked in the mirror yesterday.

“Can you show me where it hurts?” he prods, seeming uneasy with how quiet Chris is.

Chris sighs and tentatively outlines the area over his largest incision. He uses only the lightest grazing touch but it still makes him suck in a sharp breath as his abdominal muscles clench painfully. Darren nods, seeming unsurprised. He eases Chris's shirt back over his stomach and then sits up, reaching for the bottle of pain pills and Gatorade on the nightstand.

“Is it bad?” Chris asks, his voice small. “Or gross?”

Darren frowns. “What do you mean?”

“My stomach.”

“Oh,” Darren signals his acknowledgement. “It just looks painful, that's all. But it's not gross. You could never be gross to me, alright?”

Chris tries to smile at Darren but it ends up being more of a grimace. “I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“Chris  _no_ , don't be. I don't like the idea of you being alone and in pain. I'm glad I'm here so that I can help,” he says, handing him a pill and the open bottle of Gatorade. Chris takes them and immediately swallows the pill with a big sip of the drink.

“Have you been taking your pain medicine with food or without?” Darren inquires as he replaces the lid on the bottle of Vicodin and puts it back on the nightstand, then does the same with the drink.

“Uh, I've done it both ways, but usually I take it without food and my stomach has handled it fine for the most part.” Chris tries to roll back towards Darren so he can see him better, but he's stopped short by another flash of pain that has him grabbing his side and moaning.

“Easy,” Darren whispers as he grabs his hand. “Maybe don't try to move again until the medicine kicks in, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris echoes, squeezing Darren's hand gratefully. “I think I overdid it yesterday,” he sighs.

“Seems like it.” Darren's quiet for a minute, just tracing patterns along his knuckles as they both breathe. “I'm sorry if I pushed you to do more than you should have,” he apologizes eventually.

Now it's Chris's turn to frown. “You didn't,” he says, honestly confused. “All we did was lay on the couch and watch a movie, which is pretty much the exact same thing I've been doing all week by myself?”

“There was also the kissing,” Darren reminds him. “I probably shouldn't have...” he trails off, shaking his head ruefully.

“Darren, I can almost guarantee that this wasn't brought on by the kissing. I was 100% relaxed and horizontal by then, so that doesn't even make sense,” Chris insists, smiling briefly at the memory.

“Then what did you mean when you said you overdid it?” Darren prompts.

“Uh,” Chris is evasive, knowing he's probably headed for a lecture. “Well, my apartment was a wreck because Ashley's a total slob and things got fairly disgusting while I was in the hospital. So, I might have vacuumed and swept the kitchen floor and taken out the trash and... stuff like that.” He finally braves a glance up at Darren and isn't surprised to see that he's not amused.

“Christopher Colfer,” Darren begins to scold. “What's your middle name?” he stops to ask.

“Paul.”

“Okay, Christopher Paul Colfer, you know that was incredibly stupid, right? I'm sure you're bright enough to figure out that the reason your surgeon wouldn't clear you to go back to work until after Friday is because you need to rest and take things easy right now. And playing Cinderella and nearly killing yourself tidying up your obviously already neat apartment, especially on my behalf, is just... dumb. And I'm a little tempted to yell at you more but you look so miserable that I'm going to stop, because natural consequences and all,” Darren finishes in a rush.

Normally, Chris would find Darren's lecture amusing or possibly even endearing, a tangible sign of how much he cares about him. But right now, he's so tired and drained and sore and all he wants is for Darren to fix it. “I know, I'm sorry,” he whispers, lower lip wobbling as he fights back tears.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Darren sighs helplessly. “It's okay, come here,” he murmurs, sliding his body around him. “It'll get better soon,” he reassures him, settling his cheek against Chris's hair.

“Promise?” Chris manages, his voice shaky and still way closer to tears than he would like. He's starting to suspect that pain medicines make him overly emotional as he can't think of time he's cried so much in one week, aside from when he was a little kid or when his beloved grandmother died.

“I swear,” Darren says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Your medicine will kick in soon and then we'll both go back to sleep and when you wake up, I'll make you pancakes, okay? How does that sound?”

“Mmm, pancakes. I like pancakes. Will you put chocolate chips in them?” Chris requests.

“Do you  _have_  chocolate chips? I might have scoped out some Bisquick when I was grabbing your medicines last night, but I didn't think to look for chocolate.”

“Snooper,” Chris can't help but tease. “And of course I have chocolate chips. Baking is my specialty. My cookies are to die for.”

“Hey, it was altruistic snooping!” Darren clarifies. “Snooping done for the sole purpose of making you breakfast, yes wow, I'm such a monster.”

Chris snorts, wincing a little when the laughter tugs at his incision. “Ow,” he groans softly.

“Sorry, my bad,” Darren apologizes. “Medicine still hasn't kicked in?”

Chris tries to shift minutely on the bed, considering. It hurts, but it's more of a dull ache than the sharp, stabbing pain he'd felt earlier. “I think it's starting to kick in some. Still sore though.”

Darren clucks sympathetically, drawing Chris closer to his chest. “What else can I do?” he asks.

“I think it might hurt less if I could manage to lay on my other side,” Chris explains. “Can you help me move?”

“Of course, I'll try.” Darren slowly slides out from underneath Chris, doing everything possible to keep from jarring his body. Then he sits up against the headboard, looking down at Chris and trying to work out the best way to maneuver him. “I'm going to swap sides, okay?” he decides.

Darren gets up and starts to walk around to the other side of the bed. He stops midway through when he has a thought, turning back and flipping off the lamp before he slowly navigates around the bed, using the pale light seeping through beneath the blinds to light his way.

“Ready,” he says once he's positioned himself on Chris's left side. He hands Chris a pillow and reminds him to tuck it between his right side and his arm. “I'm going to roll you towards me now, alright? Just let me do all the work. I think it'll hurt less that way.”

Chris nods and takes a deep breath and lets Darren guide his body towards him. Once or twice, he feels the same twinge in his side but it's bearable. Finally, he's on his left side with his head resting on Darren's shoulder. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, waiting for the pain to pass.

Darren kisses his forehead again, then his cheek, then a quick peck on the lips. “Okay?” he whispers as he starts to pull back, their noses still brushing.

“Okay,” Chris sighs, leaning forward to kiss Darren quickly one more time. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Darren murmurs. “Or not  _pleasure_ , exactly, because I don't enjoy seeing you in pain. I'm not a sadist or anything. Unless you're secretly into BDSM, in which case, we can discuss it or -”

“Darren?” Chris interrupts.

“Yeah?”

“Please stop talking.”

“Solid advice,” Darren laughs. “Where have you been all my life? I could have used your wise counsel to stop me from putting my foot in my mouth a time or six hundred.”

“No kidding. Sorry I couldn't be there all those times to save you from yourself, but I'm here now,” Chris mumbles.

“You are.” Darren squeezes his hand. “Feeling a little better?”

“Yes,” Chris yawns.

“Ready to go back to sleep?”

“Getting there.” Chris shifts a little, rubbing his cheek against Darren's chest. “Do you have to get up early tomorrow... by which I mean today?” he corrects himself. “When do you go into work?”

“My shift doesn't start until 2 pm so I've got all the time in the world, especially for you,” Darren assures him.

“Good, because I'm pretty sure once I fall back asleep, I'm going to sleep for a hundred years,” Chris mumbles sleepily.

“Right there with you,” Darren agrees. He slides his fingers into Chris's hair, earning a hum of contentment. “How's your stomach feeling now – better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Chris says. “My hero,” he adds, putting on his best damsel in distress voice. Thanks to having a higher pitched than average voice for a guy, it's not all that much of a stretch. Chris snorts at the realization

“Solid Princess Buttercup impersonation,” Darren congratulates him. “And what's so funny?”

“Mmm, just my brain on drugs,” Chris slurs. “I'm slightly stoned and it's a laugh riot in here as a result.”

“That's excellent news.” Darren grins down at him.

“Is it?”

“Of course it is. I'll take a stoned Chris over an in-pain Chris any day,” Darren replies instantly, as if the answer is obvious.

“Always knew you were secretly a hippie,” Chris shoots back, reaching up and tweaking one of Darren's curls between two fingers.

“The hair gave it away, hmm?” Darren says, laughing. “And yeah, not really a secret. My friends and I pretty much singlehandedly kept our pot dealer afloat in college. I also have a bit of a nudist streak at times. So, now you know my dirty little secret, not that you'll remember it in the morning, because hello, you're high.”

“I'm not  _that_  high,” Chris protests weakly. “I am that sleepy though,” he adds, punctuating the statement with a yawn.

“Then you should sleep, Christopher Paul Colfer,” he replies fondly.

“Are you going to use my full name constantly now that you know it?” Chris wonders aloud. “Because I'm used to only hearing it from my parents when I'm in trouble.”

“Maybe? I don't know. It's a good name,” Darren replies.

“Thanks. What's your middle name?” Chris asks.

“Everett.”

“Darren Everett Criss,” Chris murmurs, more to himself than Darren, just trying the name on for size. “I like it.”

“Why thank you, I'll have to pass along your compliments to the chef, err... parents,” he replies.

“I mean they are basically chefs. They made you together and then your mom cooked you in her baby oven, so the metaphor works pretty well,” Chris babbles.

“Um, you are more than a little stoned,” Darren chuckles. “I think I'm safe in proclaiming that you are really fucking high, in fact.”

“You would know, stoner,” Chris shoots back. He pauses for a second, the gears in his brain grinding extremely slowly as he tries to voice the next thought. “Please put me to bed before I say anything stupid and embarrass myself further?”

“Stupid?”

“Stupider. Whatever. Please help,” Chris slurs.

Darren laughs again, long and hard. Chris smiles as the vibrations from Darren's chest buzz against his cheek. It feels good being so close to someone again, both physically and emotionally. It's probably helped along by how pleasantly fuzzy and floaty his body feels thanks to the medication, but it's just... nice to be held, safe and warm and not in any pain for the first time in an hour.

“It's definitely bedtime, for both of us,” Darren agrees, his voice low and fond. He grabs the edge of the duvet from down near his waist and pulls it up over them both, tucking it just under Chris's chin. He slides down a bit, settling his head squarely in the center of the pillow. Then, he presses a kiss to the top of Chris's head.

“Comfy?” he checks.

“Very,” Chris answers, his voice so soft and slurred it's barely audible.

“Good.” Chris can tell he's smiling by the way he says it, even though he can't see Darren's face. “If you need anything, promise me you'll wake me up so I can help, okay?”

“Got everything I need, but okay,” Chris murmurs.

It earns him another kiss.

* * *

 Chris wakes up to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. Darren freezes in the doorway, holding a wooden tray in both hands and looking at him guiltily.

“Shit, did I wake you up?” Darren asks, eyes wide and concerned.

“Nah, I was already mostly awake,” Chris lies, because it seems like the right thing to do for whatever reason. “What time is it?”

“A little after 10,” Darren replies.

“God, that late? You should have woken me up sooner,” Chris winces, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Darren shakes his hand. “No, you needed your rest. You had a rough night. Besides I only woke up about an hour ago and I had a breakfast promise to make good on.”

“Oh?” Chris asks eagerly, sitting up in bed.

“Yep,” Darren answers proudly. “Chocolate chip pancakes as promised,” he announces as he sets the tray on the bed near Chris.

“They smell really good,” Chris enthuses, practically drooling. “But I'm fine, we can go eat out in the kitchen if you want? That way you can eat too.”

“Already ate,” Darren replies, almost apologetically. “I was hungry, and I wanted to pamper you anyway, thus the breakfast in bed.”

“If you insist,” Chris grins, stretching his arms overhead and sitting up a little straighter. “Always knew buying this tray table would come in handy one day,” he jokes, settling it over his lap.

“It certainly made my job a lot easier,” Darren agrees, flopping down on the bed next to Chris. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

“So far so good.”

“Yeah?” Darren confirms. “You promise you'll tell me if that stops being the case.”

“I swear,” Chris says, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “I really think that was a one time thing as a result overdoing it, so no need to keep worrying, okay?”

“Worrying is my middle name,” Darren shoots back.

“Suuuure it is, Darren Everett Criss.”

“It could be Darren Everett Worrying Criss, you don't know,” he scoffs. “But fine, I'll do my best to tone down the overprotective mother hen thing as long as you promise me that you learned your lesson last night. No more hauling trash and scrubbing floors for another week or two, okay?”

“If you insist,” he huffs with exaggerated reluctance.

“Chris,” Darren glares.

“Yes yes, god, I promise,” Chris says. “Now can I eat my pancakes?”

“Yep, you've earned them.”

Chris looks down at the loaded tray. There's a stack of of three chocolate chip pancakes with a small cup of syrup off to the side. There's also a bowl of strawberries and grapes and a glass of orange juice that looks fresh squeezed. For a finishing touch, Darren has added one of the daisies from the bouquet he gave Chris last night to a tiny vase and placed it on the corner of the tray. “Holy shit, I'm impressed,” he manages as he stabs a forkful of pancake.

Darren positively preens under the praise. “Yeah, the pancakes came out decent, I think,” he adds modestly.

“These are way more than decent,” Chris moans, licking a remnant of chocolate from his upper lip. He quite enjoys the way Darren's eyes go dark as he watches him.

“Glad they pass inspection,” Darren replies throatily. “Figured you could use a big breakfast since you didn't eat much last night.”

All of the sudden, Chris remembers one very important thing he forgot to do last night. “Shit,” he curses, craning his head, looking for his phone.

“What's wrong?”

“Where's my phone? I was supposed to text Ashley last night before I went to sleep and I totally forgot,” Chris explains, already flinching in anticipation of her reaction.

“Oh, that,” Darren laughs. “Yeah, she mentioned...”

“Wait, you talked to her?” Chris frowns. “When?”

“A little while ago. She came home while I was cooking,” Darren says.

“But you're  _naked_ ,” Chris gasps, slightly horrified. He knows he’s never going to hear the end of it from Ashley.

“Um,” Darren looks down, as if to confirm that he's still wearing boxer briefs. He is. “Last I checked I was wearing underwear?”

“Practically naked, I mean,” Chris shakes his head.

“Kind of a nudist, just like I warned you last night,” Darren shrugs. “But more importantly, she didn't seem to mind one bit. We had a good talk, actually.”

“About what?” Chris sucks in a sharp breath, terrified of the answer.

“You, mainly.” He must sense that Chris is about to interrupt, so he rushes to reassure him. “Breathe, Chris. It was nothing major or life changing. She didn't spill your darkest secrets or anything like that.”

“Go on,” Chris encourages, still barely breathing.

“I don't know, it was the standard best friend speech. The whole 'hey, don't hurt my pal or you'll be sorry' thing. Joey would probably give you the same one if given the opportunity,” Darren predicts.

“Joey's your best friend?” Chris asks.

“And roommate, yeah. He's cool. You'll like him,” Darren comments idly.

“I'm sure I will. Did Ashley say anything else? Is she mad at me for not telling her she could come back home sooner?” Chris worries.

“Nah, apparently she met a guy at the bar and went home with him anyway, so you're off the hook,” Darren promises. “And in terms of other things she said, mainly just that it'd been a few years since you'd been serious with a guy so I must be pretty important for you to trust me so fast.”

Chris drops his head to his hands, his face flushing red with humiliation. “So embarrassing,” he grumbles.

“Hey, no, don't be embarrassed,” Darren requests. When Chris keeps his face hidden, he reaches over and cups his jaw. “C'mon, look at me.”

Chris reluctantly lifts his head, still not meeting Darren's gaze.

“It's been a while since I really dated anyone seriously either, okay? I'm not judging you for that. And she's right, we  _are_  moving fast. That only has to be a bad thing if we convince ourselves that it must be, though,” Darren swears.

Chris has so many thoughts in his head that he hardly knows where to begin. One rises to the top above all the rest, though. Before Chris can overthink it, he's sharing. “You make me really happy.”

Darren's eyes go soft. “You make me really happy too. Happier than I've been in a long time,” he murmurs.

“Good,” Chris breathes, exhaling fully for the first time since Darren mentioned Ashley. “Okay, mini-freak out over. Please resume your previously scheduled activities,” he jokes.

“I think the only thing on my agenda for the next hour or two was just admiring how cute you are,” Darren says cheerfully. “At some point, I'll have to head home and shower and change for work, but I've got a little time.”

“That's excellent news,” Chris hums happily.

“You've got a little chocolate,” Darren points out, gesturing towards Chris's mouth.

“Oh?” Chris inquires, feigning surprise. He can feel the smear of chocolate left behind on his lower lip, but he deliberately pretends to struggle with wiping it off. “Did I get it?” he asks innocently.

“No, uh - here, let me,” Darren smiles, leaning in for a chocolatey kiss. “Good morning,” he whispers against Chris's lips as he pulls away.

“ _Great_  morning,” Chris corrects. “Now you've got chocolate on your mouth,” he laughs.

“Guess you'll have to help me out by kissing me again,” Darren smirks.

“Such a hardship.”

* * *

 The next few weeks fly by in a giddy blur. Dating Darren is everything Chris's last few relationships haven't been. It's just  _easy_ , for starters. He feels like he can actually relax and breathe around Darren. He appreciates the way that Darren can draw him out of his own head. There are still the odd moments of niggling anxieties and self-doubt, sure, but it's a vast improvement over the previous months.

They talk on the phone every night, when they aren't seeing each other in person. Darren's varying shift schedule winds up being strangely accommodating to mid-week dates and sleepovers. Chris keeps waiting to get tired of Darren, because it's a lot of togetherness for even a burgeoning relationship, and Chris is an introvert at heart. That time doesn't come. Darren is definitely the more talkative and hyperactive of the two of them, but he is pretty good at reading Chris. He gets when to push Chris to talk about something, and when to just give him a little time and space to himself. In past relationships, he found himself constantly feeling the need to explain and apologize for his personality, especially for his hermit tendencies, but Darren never makes him feel judged for who he is. Chris has heard people say that a good relationship is one in which your significant other makes you more of who you already are instead of trying to change you into someone you aren't. It might be cliched but Chris feels more like himself with Darren than he can be with anyone else he's ever met, aside from maybe his sister.

The thing that keeps him up at night (aside from kissing Darren, that is) is just blind, irrational terror that what they have can't be real, that it's some sort of fairytale or good dream he's going to wake up from at the worst possible time. It's happened so quickly, and while that feels right, especially in the moment, it's also a source of a lot of Chris's ongoing angst. He knows Darren's special because he likes him enough not to put up his typical defenses to try to stop himself from getting hurt. That's also what scares Chris most of all. He's fallen so fast and hard for Darren, and if anything threatens their relationship in the future, the fall from grace is going to be even harder. Chris doesn't know if he'll survive it. And that's what scares the shit out of him. Chris has to remind himself that while their relationship is really, really good, it's not perfect. He finds those cracks reassuring rather than concerning though, tangible proof that what they are building together is reality, not fantasy.

Their first fight is probably their biggest. It seems silly in retrospect, but at the time, Chris had been convinced that it was over, just like that, and that he only had himself to blame. It started off as an innocent question via text. Darren mentioned that he'd seen the blood thinner shots in the bathroom while he was getting ready for work and asked how long he had to put up with the daily shots for. Chris answered truthfully that he was told to do them for two weeks post-op as a preventive measure, as is typical after most abdominal surgeries, but that he'd stopped them prematurely because he was too squeamish to give them to himself and Ashley wasn't always around to do it for him.

Darren really didn't like that answer, launching into a long spiel about how stupid and dangerous a decision that was, going as far to speculate that maybe Chris had a death wish. He also reminded Chris that being squeamish was a really lame excuse to give when he had a nurse for a boyfriend that was happy to help. Chris blames a knee-jerk defensive reaction for him telling Darren he was tired of being babied by everyone in his life. He'd expected Darren to fight back, to respond with equal vitriol, but instead he'd done the opposite and just stopped replying to Chris's texts and not picking up the phone when Chris cooled down and tried to call him to apologize. Instead, Chris was left with only his increasingly morbid thoughts for the longest two hours of his life. It was sheer torture, at least until Darren showed up on his doorstep and gave Chris the opportunity to apologize in person. Darren, to Chris's great relief, dispensed with the lectures this time, and instead just showed Chris how to administer the blood-thinner shots on himself so he could maintain the independence he needed. It felt like the first real test of their relationship, and they passed.

It wasn't long after that when Chris realized he was already falling in love with Darren. It was a laughably insane thought, really, coming not even a full month into their relationship. It seemed an impossible task to tell Darren how he felt, and a even more herculean one to keep his feelings a secret. Darren was just so easy to love, and every time he did something especially funny or charming or sweet, it took increasing willpower not to grab his face and yell “I love you, you idiot.” The only reason Chris held back was because he wasn't sure how Darren would respond. Hell, Chris is sure that if one of his previous boyfriends had trotted out the “I love yous” a month or two into dating, he would have deemed him certifiable and broken up with the guy in question. But would Darren do the same to him? Everything else about their relationship points to no, but there's no way to be sure without testing that assumption. He tells himself that there's no hurry or rush. It'll happen when the time is right, when Chris just can't keep the truth to himself another moment. He just hopes Darren will feel the same way about him.

* * *

 “It just makes me so sad that some of these kids have no one in their corner, you know? They are so smart and capable and they work their asses off, and their parents still don't see it. Or maybe it's that they do see it, they just don't care? I'm honestly not sure which would be worse,” Chris sighs heavily. It's been a hard day of teaching at the end of a hard week of meetings, parent-teacher conferences, and a mountain of grading that has to be finished by the end of the weekend. He probably should have tried to power through a big chunk of it tonight instead of taking the night off to see Darren, but honestly, he needed the support and a break from the stress and tedium of work.

“I'm not sure either,” Darren shakes his head. “It's got to be so frustrating, when you are the one investing so much in your students, probably more than their own parents sometimes.”

“Yeah exactly,” Chris murmurs.

“Want some more wine?” Darren asks. “There's another glass’s worth in the bottle and something tells me you could use it more than me tonight.”

“Uh, I don't know if I'll be able to drive if I do...” Chris deliberates.

“Just sleep here. I'd already assumed you were going to, honestly,” Darren encourages.

“Don't have you early shift tomorrow though?”

“8 AM, if you consider that early?” Darren shrugs. “It's no big deal. You can sleep in if you want and leave later. Joey won't mind. For all I know he'll wind up spending the night at Lauren's anyways.”

“If you're sure,” Chris smiles. “Fill 'er up,” he requests, passing Darren his wine glass.

“So, what happened with the conference you were worrying about yesterday? The kid with the deadbeat mom and dad?” Darren prompts while he pours Chris a generous serving of wine.

“God, it was a serious battle of wills. I spent a good twenty minutes trying to justify the importance of AP courses to them, explaining that their kid was one of the smartest I've had the good fortune of teaching. And at the end of it, they said they didn't care, it'd be better for him to switch to a different course so he could have a free period for working out with the rest of the basketball team,” Chris fumes.

“Seriously? What the fuck. So, did they pull him out of your class after all?” Darren asks.

“No,” Chris replies proudly. “I wasn't willing to give up quite that easily. I asked why they felt basketball was more important than their kid getting a good education. The dad said that they felt like college was a waste of time and money, since no one in the their family ever went. I don't think his parents even have one high school diploma between them, to be honest. But basically, the dad was willing to let Jason go to college if he could earn a basketball scholarship.”

“Ah, hence why they thought weightlifting with the team was more important?”

“Something like that. So yeah, once I figured out the angle, I started explaining how many different needs based scholarships and grants Jason would qualify for with his GPA, courses, and stellar teacher recommendation letters from instructors like me. I also explained how much easier it would be for him to get an academic scholarship than an athletic one, because they are less competitive.”

“And? Darren presses. “Did it work?”

“Yep,” Chris beams. “They not only agreed to let Jason stay in my AP English composition course, but they also signed the form to let him register for AP Literature next semester.”

“God I love you,” Darren blurts out. Chris gapes at him, inhaling a shaky breath. They are the words he's spent weeks tamping down, words that he's longed to hear fall from Darren's lips. He's just not sure if Darren means them the way he's been hoping for.

“What? Like you love me for going to bat for my students or...?” he trails off.

“No, like I love you, period. I'm in love with you, to be more precise,” Darren speaks reverently. “But I don't expect you– you don't have to–”

“I love you too,” Chris interrupts. “I'm completely in love with you.”

This time it's Darren's turn to be the momentarily speechless one. “Really?” he checks, as if the thought's unfathomable or unexpected.

“Yes really, you idiot,” Chris confirms. “I've been thinking it for a little while now, I just wasn't sure how to tell you or if it was too soon to say something.”

“I find that simply saying 'I love you' works pretty well,” Darren teases. “It doesn't have to be more complicated than that.”

“Well, that's easy for you to say  _now_ ,” Chris huffs. “I was just scared.”

“Scared of what?” Darren asks, taking Chris's hand from his lap and threading their fingers together.

“Isn't it obvious? Rejection. I'm pretty much always scared of that,” he confesses.

“You don't need to be scared of that with me, okay? I'm all in,” Darren swears. “I don’t doubt us or the fact that were meant to be. Besides, timing's not the end all be all.”

Chris nods, feeling so buoyant it's no small feat that he hasn't flown away. “Okay then, we're in love... with each other.”

“Yes thankfully, because it would be pretty awkward if we were both in love with other people, given that we're dating and all,” Darren laughs.

“And just like that, our serious romantic moment is over,” Chris teases wryly.

“Hmm, let's see what we can do about getting it back again,” Darren suggests. He stands, taking Chris by the hand and leading him in the direction of his bedroom, both of them giggling the whole way.


	5. Chapter 5

Chris lights an elegant taper candle in the center of his dining room table, nodding satisfaction that he's officially completed his to-do list with six whole minutes to spare before Darren is scheduled to arrive for their date. The table is set with formal china plates and sterling silver flatware that Chris only bothers digging out a few times a year for special occasions. Next to the two place settings sit crystal stemware and a uncorked bottle of red wine. The aroma of garlic and eggplant parmesan wafts from the oven. Now, the only thing Chris needs to make this a truly unforgettable evening is Darren.

He peeks in on the progress of the garlic bread in the oven, ensuring that it hasn't started to burn. Then, he shuffles off to the bathroom to mop the sweat he worked up cooking from his brow. He checks his reflection, smoothing down his hair in the mirror one final time. Tonight has the potential to be a big night for him and Darren, quote possibly the biggest they've faced as a couple in their short time together. Chris feels the familiar flutter of butterflies in his stomach at the thought of telling Darren that he's ready to progress their relationship to the next level physically by having sex with him for the first time.

He meanders back into the living room, mind still rehearsing the way he plans of giving Darren the hopefully good news. He flops down on the couch, flipping through the TV channels to distract himself from the nerves while he waits for Darren to appear. He compulsively checks the time as he waits.

And waits. And then waits some more.

* * *

 Six texts and two unanswered phone calls later, Chris gives up on trying to contact Darren. He vacillates wildly between anger and worry. He feels like he's gotten to know Darren pretty well and him just not showing up for a date without a heads up feels out of character. When the clock that Chris can't seem to stop staring at makes it way back around to mark the passing of another hour, Chris gives up on waiting too. Darren's obviously not coming to their date.

He blows out the candles on the table and turns off the oven that he's had on low to keep the food he'd made for dinner warm. He thinks about eating, but he's really not hungry anymore. He wonders if she should call Ashley and tell her she doesn't have to spend the night at her friend's place since Darren isn't coming and certainly not spending the night, even if he does manage to show up several hours late with a decent excuse. But Chris doesn't think he could bear having to explain what happened, or what  _didn't_  happen, to be more precise, right now. He can barely handle thinking it to himself, let alone trying to explain it to Ashley. He needs a night to himself before he'll be ready to tackle that.

Chris slumps on the couch, no longer fighting the angry, disappointed tears that have been threatening to fall for the past half hour. He just feels... stupid. Rationally, he knows that Darren didn't know everything that he had planned for tonight. He couldn't have known that he'd been planning to suggest they take things to the next level physically, but he still feels used. Chris has never let himself fall as fast and as hard as he has for Darren and he's starting to wonder if that trust had been misplaced. It terrifies him to realize that they hadn't had the talk about exclusivity and commitment and what they are to one another. He just kind of assumed from Darren's words and actions that they were on the same page about their blossoming relationship. What if they weren't? What if Chris had somehow gotten it all wrong? What if Darren wasn't the inherently good guy Chris thought he was?

When the what ifs don't stop coming, a string of never-ending worst case scenarios that make Chris feel sick to his stomach, he decides he needs a way to get out of his head and fast. He looks longingly at the uncorked bottle of red wine on the table and considers getting really, really drunk. He knows it's a bad idea because he's always had a tendency towards turning into a sloppy, weepy drunk, but it's  _so_  tempting. The only reason he's able to resist is because he's scared he'll call Darren and leave a truly embarrassing drunk voicemail if he starts drinking. Chris decides he's been humiliated enough for one night, so he's not going to let himself do anything to make it worse.

Eventually, he decides to go with the classic move for anyone who's ever had his heart broken: he'll cry himself to sleep. Given that it's barely 9 PM and that's an early bedtime, even for someone who teaches high school for a living, Chris knows a little medicinal help will be necessary. He walks into his bedroom, still sniffling away, and quickly strips out of his clothes. He shivers a little once he's down to an undershirt and boxers, but he doesn't have the energy to find pajamas right now. Instead he digs around in the drawer in his nightstand until he finds the prescription bottle for Ambien he was given before his last intercontinental flight. It still holds a single sleeping pill and Chris has already decided that tonight's the perfect night to use it. He wants the deep, dreamless sleep that only pharmaceuticals can provide.

He downs the sleeping pill with a sip of water and then flicks off the lamp and crawls into bed. He pulls his duvet up to his chin and then the frustrated tears turn into sobs that wrack his entire body. Chris's queen bed suddenly feels too big for just him and he's never felt so cold and alone in his life. He doesn't want to be crying in bed alone. He should be eating the eggplant parmesan that he slaved over for hours and drinking the slightly more expensive than usual red wine while he laughs with Darren. He should be leading Darren into this very bed right now and pressing him into the mattress as hot kisses turn into something more. His heart clenches painfully as he thinks of their last date, of the lazy kisses they'd shared over breakfast. The thought that that might have been their last kiss, that he might not get more with Darren when three hours ago he'd assumed they had all the time in the world, makes him audibly keen. He doesn't know how he'll go back to the quiet, boring life he led before now that he knows what so much more feels like. He hopes he doesn't have to.

Chris desperately wants there to be some sort of explanation, some reason, a thing that will make him not just forgive but also understand. He doesn't want Darren to be hurt or in trouble. He's not hoping for a fiery car crash (or motorcycle crash, in Darren's case, which would be even worse) or a tragic family crisis, but he needs there to be  _some_  explanation for Darren's unannounced absence. He's not sure if it's naïve, stupid, or both to hope that he'll get one tonight, but Chris still checks his phone one last time and makes certain it's connected to the charger before he closes his eyes.

He's almost stupidly grateful as he feels the medication begin to wipe out the what ifs and fears, leaving behind it only blankness and tranquility. But it takes Chris's body a little while to catch up with his mind, the tears still dampening his pillow for minutes after he can remember why he was crying to begin with. Eventually, even his body gives in to the medication. He sighs with relief as his whole body goes lax until he's finally,  _blessedly_  drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay, I know you probably hate me right about now for that evil absolutely cliffhanger, but I promise you that it's not what it looks like. More importantly, however, you've reached the midpoint of this fic, and I'm dying to know what you think of it so far. Click the comment button and please share to your heart's content. Nothing would make me happier :D


	6. Chapter 6

Chris is still floating on a wave somewhere, blissfully unaware of any stress or fear when a harsh buzzing begins to intrude on his peace. He groans and moves a little bit, trying to bat the sound away like an annoying gnat. It's persistently stubborn though, stopping for a few tranquil seconds before it starts up again, just as loudly as before. He just wants to sleep, why won't it  _stop_?

Chris lays in the dark for several minutes, not really awake but not quite asleep. His thoughts come back a little at a time, but he's not acknowledging them until his memories of the night before hit him all at once. He remembers Darren standing him up and the mystery of why is enough to have him shooting up in bed and forcing his eyes open. His head spins as he tries to focus his eyes enough to read the digital display on his alarm clock.  _3:14 AM._ As soon as he reads it, he catches sight of the lit up display on his phone, still buzzing away on his nightstand. He reaches for it once he sees Darren's name and number. He's a little tempted to send the call to voicemail and wait until morning to deal with him, but even in his half awake state, he knows the phone has been ringing for quite some time. Darren's obviously determined to get in contact with him tonight and he wants to know why badly enough to hit the accept button on the call with a deep breath.

“Chris?” Darren gasps as soon as the call connects, sounding out of breath and... off somehow, but not in a way Chris can place just yet.

“Yeah?” Chris answers, sounding more annoyed and frustrated than he'd intended. He doesn't really mind because Darren pretty much deserves that and more right now, at least until he's offered a really compelling explanation and apology for his absence last night.

“Fuck, I mean... hi. I'm outside. Can you come let me in? I need to see you,” Darren blurts out in a rush.

“It's three in the morning and you stood me up last night, Darren,” Chris sighs. “Why are you here?”

“Because I need to see you. I need to explain. I just... need  _you_ , please?” Darren begs, sounding close to tears.

Chris groans and begins rooting around for the shirt he'd obviously pulled off in the middle of the night. He finds it on the floor and begins tugging it on again. He's still feeling a little woozy and drugged from the Ambien which is why it takes a minute for him to register that he never told Darren he would let him in. He picks up the phone he'd carelessly tossed to the bed while he put on his t-shirt and hears Darren openly pleading with him.

“...no funny business, if you don't want me to stay after we talk, I won't. But this is a conversation I'd really rather have with you in person and not over the phone. I want to explain. I  _need_  to explain,” Darren babbles.

“Darren,” Chris interrupts. “I'll let you in, just give me a second, okay? I'm coming.”

“Oh, thank you. I really appreciate it. I'll see you in a second,” Darren breathes gratefully.

“Yeah,” Chris manages and then hangs up the phone. He drops it to the bed and stands. He's a little wobbly but nowhere near as bad as he would have been had he given into the temptation to down the entire bottle of wine. He considers putting on pants but it seems like a lot of effort and Darren has already seen him in boxers before. It's more than Darren deserves to see  _now_ but Chris just can't find it in him to care. Curiosity has gotten the better of him and he wants to know the circumstances behind Darren's absence earlier and him showing up on his doorstep at 3 AM.

He staggers through the dark living room, cursing as he stubs his toe on the edge of the couch. He hisses in pain but stumbles to the door and quickly undoes the deadbolt. As he swings open the door, he flinches a little at how bright the light on his porch is.

Once his eyes adjust, there's Darren in a well-worn t-shirt and jeans. His gaze slowly travels upward, noting with equal parts annoyance and relief that he doesn't appear to be injured or maimed.  _There goes one possible explanation for Darren's absence_ , he thinks grimly. Finally, Chris makes it to Darren's face and he sucks in a breath at how awful he looks. It's obvious he's been crying a lot, enough that his eyes are swollen to tiny slits and the skin underneath his eyes is red and puffy. Chris is trying to stay angry, but it's difficult when Darren looks at him like if he says one word, he's going to fall apart all over again.

The silence hangs between them. Darren swallows hard and looks at Chris like he's terrified to say the wrong thing. Ultimately, Chris's impatience wins out. “What happened to you?” he asks.

“I... Um, a lot. Would it be okay if I came in before we talked?” he asks tentatively. It hadn't occurred to Chris until now that he hadn't invited him in.

“Oh yeah, come in, I guess?” Chris shrugs and opens the door a tad wider. Darren tries to smile in gratitude as he steps over the threshold, but it just looks  _wrong_ , nothing like when Darren had genuinely smiled at him in the past. The faintly pained expression tugs at Chris's heartstrings a little, even though he doesn't want it to. He takes a deep breath and focuses on closing and re-locking his front door, needing some space to get his head straight. He doesn't know if he should be mad, worried, frustrated, or all of the above.

He turns and sees Darren fidgeting awkwardly in his living room, not sure what to say or do either. It makes Chris angry all over again because he's the  _reason_  this is uncomfortable. He's the reason neither of them know what to do. They could be sleeping off the sex afterglow in his bed right now if Darren had just showed up like he promised he would.

“Should we go into your room so we don't wake up Ashley?” Darren whispers.

“She's not here. I asked her to sleep at a friend's house tonight,” Chris admits.

“Oh,” Darren says on autopilot, nodding a little. Then, his brain catches up to exactly what Chris said and his eyes are widening in sickening recognition. “ _Oh_ ,” he repeats again. “Fuck.”

“That was the idea,” Chris tries to joke, but there's a palpable undercurrent of bitterness he knows Darren can hear.

“I didn't know...” Darren breathes. “Shit, I'm so sorry, Chris.”

“Yeah, well...” Chris folds his arms over his chest. “Now would probably be a good time to start explaining, assuming there's a decent explanation for you standing me up without even bothering to call or text.”

Darren winces visibly and stumbles, barely managing to catch himself before he faceplants on Chris's carpet.

Chris frowns. “Are you  _drunk_?”

“No,” Darren answers immediately. Chris shoots him a disbelieving look. “Okay, maybe a little, but that's not  _why_  - I didn't abandon you to get shitfaced, if that's what you're thinking.”

“How did you get here?” Chris asks. “You didn't drive, did you?”

“No, of course not. I took a cab.”

“Good.” Chris stares at Darren for what feels like ages, waiting for him to get on with the explaining. He needs to know just how badly things have been fucked up between them, whether it's a temporary bump in the road or something that will unfortunately be permanent.

Darren stares at the floor, looking like he might vomit or bolt at any second. Chris exhales heavily as his patience starts to reach its limit. “Darren, why did you wake me up? If you aren't going to start talking soon, I'm going back to bed.”

Darren runs a hand through his hair and finally looks up at Chris. His cheeks are glittering with freshly fallen tears and up close, Chris notices that his whole body is trembling. It weakens his resolve considerably.

“I had a bad night,” Darren finally says, so softly that Chris has to lean forward to hear him. “A  _really_  bad night, one of the worst of my adult life.”

“Yeah, me too,” Chris mutters, not really intending for Darren to hear him.

Darren's head snaps up like he's been hit, and then he's full on crying. “I'm already fucking this up. I fuck everything up,” he whimpers. He starts to sway again, and Chris actually has to grab him by the back of his shirt to keep him from going down this time.

“Let's sit,” Chris directs and leads them both to the couch. Darren falls onto it with a quiet “oof” and then puts his head in his hands, crying harder still.

“C'mon Darren, you've got to talk to me,” Chris coaxes. “I think you owe me that much.”

Darren nods and forces himself to meet Chris's gaze. “I had a bad night at work, to be more specific.”

“Okay,” Chris replies, signaling him to continue.

“It didn't start out bad,” Darren murmurs, and then he's looking down at his hands again. He twists at the hem of his shirt with his fingers, but Chris senses that he needs the distraction so he lets it slide without comment. “I usually only deal with adults in the recovery room. There's a separate wing for pediatric patients who are post-anesthesia. But I guess some surgeon was taking a little too long or the pediatric ward was full or some combination of the two? I don't really know, but I guess it's not important. The point is that they called up and asked if I'd mind taking care of a seven year old who'd just had a tonsillectomy for a few hours before they released her to go home. So I said 'yeah, sure' because I love kids.”

Chris stomach lurches, because he's starting to get an idea of where this story is going and it's not good.

Darren takes a quavering breath, the tears falling faster now. Before he can talk himself out of it, Chris reaches out and captures one of Darren's hands in his. Darren's whole body jolts like he's been electrocuted, and then he's looking up at Chris with wide, shocked eyes. It's clear that Chris touching him is more than he'd dared to hope for. Chris squeezes his hand. “Go on,” he encourages.

“The little girl gets up to my floor, and she's cute as a button. She woke up pretty fast and was totally fine. I gave her a popsicle and pulled up some cartoons for her to watch on my phone. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was actually having fun. And then...” his voice cracks and he stops, breaking off into a sob.

Chris scoots forward until their knees are touching on the couch. Part of him wants to take Darren into his arms, but he he wants to give Darren space to get through the whole story first so he doesn't. It hurts to see Darren this way, and it hurts a little because Chris still doesn't get why Darren didn't just call him and explain what happened. He would have been there for him. But he hadn't for some reason, and that knowledge hurts more than being stood up did, somehow.

“And then what?” he gently prods.

“And then she wasn't okay at all. In the blink of an eye, she went from being totally fine to me having to call a code,” Darren chokes out.

“How? Why?” Chris asks, because the thought that a healthy person could go from fine to nearly dead so quickly scares him too.

“It was a hemorrhage in her throat,” Darren explains. “It's one of the risks they make you acknowledge on the forms you sign before surgery, but it's so rare, especially for a minor outpatient surgery. I don't know why it happened to her. It just did.  _God_ Chris, there was so much blood.” Darren looks down at his hands, like he can still see the blood on them even though they are spotless. He's breathing in unsteady, hitching breaths between sobs and the sound breaks Chris heart even more.

Chris swallows hard. “What happened to her?” he finally asks, though he's pretty sure he already knows the answer.

Darren shakes his head ruefully. “She didn't make it. We coded her for over an hour, but there was nothing else we could do. It was too late. She'd lost too much blood, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Chris breathes. He still has questions he wants to ask Darren, questions he  _needs_  to ask him, really, but he can't look at Darren's crumpled face for one more second without reaching for him.

“C'mere,” he requests as he pulls Darren into his arms. Some final dam breaks in Darren the second his head hits Chris's shoulder and then he's clawing at Chris's back and practically howling with a fresh wave of grief. Chris doesn't know what to do other than hold him even tighter.

“It's okay, I'm here,” he whispers as he strokes his hair.

“I'm sorry,” Darren babbles. “I fucked everything up.”

“No, you didn't,” Chris promises him.

“I did,” Darren insists and cries harder.

“I'm still here,” Chris says because it's the truth.

“I don't deserve you. I should have - I wanted to - I'm so sorry,” Darren chokes out. Chris isn't even sure what he's trying to say, what he's apologizing for anymore. He can't make sense of it.

“Shh, just breathe right now,” Chris soothes, rubbing his palm in circles along Darren's spine. “We can talk more later, okay?”

Darren nods into his shoulder and cries and cries and cries. Chris is starting to think he'll never run out of tears.

Minutes pass that feel like hours before Chris senses Darren starting to settle down a little. He decides he better take advantage of the break in the sobbing while he has the chance. “Hey Darren, why don't we move to my room now, alright?” he suggests gently.

Darren sniffles and gets out an “okay,” but makes no attempt to move. Chris sits back and slowly extricates himself from Darren's tight embrace. He's stopped suddenly and looks down to see Darren still clutching a handful of the front of his shirt in his fist as if it's the only thing him anchoring him to the earth. Darren follows his gaze and blushes, releasing his death grip on Chris's shirt. He makes a weak attempt to smooth out the wrinkles in the fabric, but it's hopeless.

“Don't worry about it,” Chris reassures him. “C'mon, let's get in bed.” He extends his hand and pulls Darren to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist when Darren starts to wobble. At this point, it's pretty clear to Chris that he's more than a little drunk.

They make it to the bedroom without incident, thankfully. Chris deposits Darren on his bed, noting just how small and lost he looks there, gazing up at Chris like he has no idea what to say or do anymore. He also looks painfully exhausted, which isn't surprising given that it's nearly 4 AM. “I'll be right back, okay?” Chris tells him. “Why don't you get changed into whatever you plan on wearing to sleep tonight.”

“You mean...?” Darren looks surprised.

“Yeah, I'm not going to leave you to get yourself home in this state. Just sleep though, no funny business, like you said,” Chris adds, trying to make a weak joke. He desperately wants to see Darren smile again.

“Of course, thank you,” Darren breathes, eyes welling up all over again.

Chris nods curtly and then walks back out to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water. He steps into the bathroom and roots around until he finds a half empty bottle of Aleve. He taps two pills into the palm of his hand and then heads back for his bedroom. Darren's going to have a killer hangover tomorrow, Chris suspects, but hopefully the water and painkillers can make a small dent in it.

When he makes it back to the bedroom, Darren's stripped down to a sleeveless undershirt and boxers and he's back to staring at his hands and crying again. Chris sighs as he sits beside him. “Here,” he says, holding out the pills in his hand.

“What's that?” Darren asks, even as he takes them from him.

“Aleve, for the headache you're going to have in the morning,” he explains. Darren nods and swallows them obediently with a swig of water.

“You should drink the whole thing,” Chris says. “Pretty sure you've cried a few bucketfuls of tears already. I'm no medical expert like you but I assume that's got to be fairly dehydrating?”

Darren buries his face in his hands, seeming embarrassed.

“Hey, don't do that,” Chris chastises gently.

“Don't do what?” Darren mumbles through his fingers.

“Hide. It's just me. You don't have to be embarrassed.”

“I am though,” Darren murmurs, lifting his head to look at Chris. “I'm a wreck.”

“Yeah, you are but that's okay. It's not like I haven't cried in front of you more than once,” Chris reminds him.

“That's different.”

“It's not. When I was having a hard time, you took care of me. Now I'm getting to return the favor. How is that any different?”

“It just is. I shouldn't have...” Darren trails off.

“Listen, I want this to be an equal relationship. That means it can't just be you taking care of me every time. I know it's your job and all, but that doesn't mean you don't need someone to take care of you every once in awhile. You could've come to me right after it happened, you know? I would have been there for you,” Chris manages, finally getting to the root of what's been bothering him most since he worked out why Darren was so upset.

“I hurt you,” Darren says and it's clearly not a surprise to either one of them.

“Yes.”

“I'd like to explain, if you'll let me?” Darren practically begs, tears sliding down his cheeks silently now. “Because it's not what you think.”

“I'd like that too,” Chris accepts. “But can we lay down first? I want to hear you out but my head is starting to get kinda... spinny.”

“Of course,” Darren agrees instantly. “Are you okay? Are you not feeling well or..?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just took an Ambien earlier because I needed to... not think for awhile. And sleep, obviously,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Oh,” Darren shoots him an apologetic look.

Chris shakes his head and then stands to walk around to his side of the bed. He pulls down the comforter and crawls beneath it. Darren looks at him, obviously waiting for some sort of invitation or permission. It seems clear that he's still expecting Chris to kick him out at any minute, so he reaches out a hand, signaling for Darren to join him.

Darren gets into bed but keeps his distance, lying still and rigid on the pillow next to him. Chris wants to reach for him again but he thinks this conversation might be easier with some space so he resists the urge. “So,” he prods gently to get Darren talking again, “what happened after your patient died?” He cringes a little at his own choice of words and how casual he makes the whole ordeal sound. He knows that it was anything but that for Darren.

Darren exhales slowly and then draws a quavering breath. “Well, there's a whole procedure that has to be followed after a code when a patient dies so that took awhile. Maybe an hour or so? I'm not sure, I wasn't really looking at my watch at that point.”

A sobering thought occurs to Chris. “Was that your first time? Losing a patient, I mean. Has that happened to you before?” Sometimes Chris forgets that even though Darren is older than him, he's still pretty young.

“Kinda,” Darren hedges. “I mean I've taken care of really sick people before, people that have died soon after they left my floor. I'd hear about them dying later and that was always hard, but I guess I usually expected it? So it was different, easier somehow. But yeah, this is the first patient to actively die on my watch. The closest I'd come to that until today was observing a code during nursing school, but I was only peripherally involved then. For all intents and purposes, it was my first.  _She_  was my first,” he corrects.

“I'm sorry,” Chris says because those are the only words of comfort he can come up with right then. They don't feel like nearly enough.

Darren's the one to reach out this time, locating Chris's hand in the darkness. “Is this okay?” he asks. “It just... helps.”

“Very okay,” Chris assures him and squeezes his hand.

Darren's quiet for a minute but Chris can tell he's trying to sort out his thoughts so he waits. He senses that Darren will continue when he's ready.

“By the time I'd dealt with all the paperwork and procedures that are required after a patient death, it was thirty minutes past when my shift was supposed to end and I was already due at your place. I was going to call you but I couldn't look at my phone then. The last thing she'd been doing before she died was holding my phone to watch cartoons and I just... couldn't,” Darren manages through his tears. “So instead, I figured I'd show up at your apartment and go from there. I got on my motorcycle and started driving and then it occurred to me that I wasn't really supposed to say anything about her death to you.”

“Why not?”

“It's against the rules. Patient confidentiality and all that. Even though I haven't said the girl's name, you could easily open up the paper in a few days and look at the obituaries and work out who my patient was just from what I told you already. It wouldn't even be that hard. I know I joke about not caring much about the rules, but I do take my job seriously. I like it a lot and I want to keep it. It's not that I think you'd ever tell on me or even let something slip accidentally that would get me in trouble, but it just made me pause for a second. And while I was pausing, I started wondering if maybe coming and dumping all this on your shoulders wasn't very fair to you,” Darren admits.

“Not fair to me how?” Chris frowns.

“I'm friends with ER docs and nurses and they talk about this a lot. They see some really gruesome shit in their line of work, way more than I ever see up in the recovery room. It takes its toll on them eventually, because how could it not? Lots of them have families too: husbands, wives, and kids. They all say the hardest part of their job is not bringing that baggage home with them at the end of the day. They don't want to burden their spouses and kids with that, you know? It's heavy shit. So they have to find their own ways of coping, of getting it out of their systems. They try to make a boundary between work stress and home life. I don't know they how to do it, to be honest. They must be a lot stronger than I am,” Darren murmurs ruefully.

“I doubt that's true,” Chris interjects.

“No, it is. They are made of steel.”

“Maybe they've just had more practice than you?” he suggests.

“Maybe. I don't want more practice though, if this is what it feels like. If this is what it does to me, what it does to  _us_ , I'm not interested,” Darren gasps out.

“I know you don't want that. I don't want that for you either. It's got to be a hard life,” Chris shakes his head because he can scarcely imagine. His job can be tough, but it's not life and death, even though the teenagers he teaches might act like it is sometimes.

“I thought maybe I could get through it on my own. Or not on my own, necessarily, but without dumping it all on your back. There's a bar right across from the hospital that a lot of doctors and nurses hang out at after their shifts. I figured that would be a safe place to go. I hoped that I might bump into some of the people I know from work and that they'd tell me how to get through it, but...” Darren trails off and wipes his eyes.

“Didn't work?” Chris asks.

“I did run into some guys I knew but they weren't all that helpful. It wasn't what I needed. They just bought me some shots and basically told me to buck up and looked embarrassed for me when I started crying,” Darren sighs.

“What did you need?” Chris asks before he can take it back.

“You,” Darren replies immediately. “You are what I needed. I wanted to call you. I thought about calling you every five minutes, but by that point it was late and I knew you were angry with me. And I didn't have good reason for standing you up other than that I kinda lost my shit for a while. It all just felt like...”

“Too much?” Chris fills in.

“Way too much. I felt like I'd let you down. I  _did_  let you down, in a big way. I swear I had good intentions, but that doesn't excuse what I did to you. Please know that it was never about me not wanting to come to you, not for a second, because that's not what it was about at all. I was just lost. I  _still am_  lost,” Darren chokes out.

“Okay,” Chris murmurs. He doesn't feel better just yet, but he hopes he will by morning. “Okay.”

“I'm sorry,” Darren says again. “I'm so, so sorry, Chris.”

“We'll work it out,” Chris promises because he finally has hope that they will. “It definitely hurt when you didn't show up and even more when you didn't call to explain. I was worried at first, then mad, and then terrified.”

“Why terrified?” Darren sounds confused.

“Because I thought you'd changed your mind about me or that I'd been wrong about who you were all along. I was scared I was going to lose you and it wasn't what I wanted at all.”

“Chris no,” Darren's voice is hoarse, but filled with conviction. He rolls to face Chris, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “I would never change my mind about you. I think sometimes the only thing I'm completely sure of in this fucked up world is you. The last thing on earth I want is to lose you, okay? You are way too important to me for that.”

Darren's eyes bore into Chris's as they gaze at one another and Chris can feel in his gut that he means every word he's saying. His breath hitches in his chest with the sheer relief of knowing that Darren doesn't want to lose him either.

“Please believe that. Please,” he says again, voice breaking with emotion. “You've got to believe me when I say that you're what I want. You're what I need. Nothing is going to change the way I feel about you, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris breathes, lump forming in his throat as he watches Darren exhale a shaky breath, tears welling in his eyes. “I believe you.”

“Good,” Darren says, now weeping harder. Chris isn't sure if it's with relief, pain, or some combination of the two.

“Hey shh, Darren. It's okay. I'm here,” Chris repeats for what feels like the millionth time that evening. “You're going to be okay. We're going to be okay.”

“You – you said  _we_ ,” Darren chokes out.

“I know, honey. I know, and it's true, okay?” he swears.

“I thought this was going to be the end of us. I thought you'd just throw me out,” Darren admits, sniffling.

“And I thought you changed your mind about me. We were both wrong, okay?” Chris points out. “You don't have to be scared of that any longer. I'm not going anywhere,” he swears, wrapping him up tighter in his arms.

“How am I not done crying yet?” Darren whimpers.

“I don't know,” Chris sighs. “You'll stop eventually though. You have to.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Chris says and presses a kiss to Darren's hair.


	7. Chapter 7

Chris groans at the sound of an alarm invading his consciousness. He feels awful, his eyes gritty and his head aching, the pain only intensifying when he cracks one eye open so he can reach out and turn off the alarm clock with a whack of his hand. The experiences of the previous evening flood back to him all at once and he sighs, angling his head so he can look down at Darren who is starting to stir on his chest.

“Chris?” he manages in a rough, wrecked voice.

“Yeah, baby. Sorry I forgot to turn my alarm off before we went to bed last night. I guess it was still set to when I normally get up for work. Just go back to sleep, alright? It's way too early to get up,” Chris encourages, stroking his bicep soothingly.

Darren rubs the sleep from his eyes. He winces at the light seeping in from beneath the window blinds, massaging his temples. “I'll try,” he murmurs.

“How are you feeling?” Chris asks gently. His stomach flutters with anxiety about how to address everything that happened last night. He's honestly not sure if talking about it or helping keep Darren distracted so he doesn't have to talk or think about it is the best way to proceed.

“Exhausted. I've got quite the headache too, not that that's a big surprise. You?”

“About the same, though to a lesser extent I'm sure,” he replies.

“I'm sorry,” Darren sighs guiltily.

“What? No shh, you've got nothing to apologize for, honey. You did more than enough apologizing last night,” Chris reassures him.

Darren look back at him, obviously not convinced. Chris wants to say more to reassure him, but it's hard to focus on anything over the pounding in his head. “Actually, just sit tight for a second, I'm going to go grab us both some Advil or something, okay? Then we can go back to bed.”

“You're the best,” Darren says appreciatively, squeezing Chris's hand.

“Be right back.”

Chris carefully slides out from underneath Darren and stands, wobbling slightly. He still feels oddly unbalanced from last night, both physically and mentally. He makes his way to the bathroom, shuddering at his reflection. His eyes are red and puffy, not to mention ringed with dark circles. He takes a moment to splash some cool water on his face and brush his teeth, since his mouth tastes like something died in it and he assumes his morning breath is extra rank. Then he grabs the half-empty bottle of Aleve and heads to the kitchen where he snags a bottle of water and another of Gatorade.

When he returns to the bedroom, Darren's still awake, head on the pillow as he stares up at the ceiling. Chris wonders what he's thinking about it, but isn't sure if he'll like the answer. Darren turns his head to look at him as the bedroom door creaks open, even managing a sad smile. It's not much, but it's a start.

Chris sits down on the edge of the bed next to Darren and passes him the bottle of Aleve. “I figured Gatorade might be better for rehydrating you due to the hangover and all,” he explains. .

“Very wise,” Darren notes as he pushes himself up onto one elbow. “I'm sure I could use the electrolytes.” He accepts the Gatorade gratefully and downs the pills with a few chugs. Then he passes the medicine bottle over to Chris so he can take some Aleve as well.

Chris swallows the pills and then sets his half empty bottle of water on the nightstand. “Hopefully that'll help,” he announces. “That plus more sleep, anyway.”

“I hope so,” Darren groans. Chris slides back underneath the duvet next to Darren. Immediately, Darren rolls onto his side facing him. Chris stretches out his arm and tucks Darren into his chest again. He presses a kiss to Darren's temple and then cards his fingers idly through Darren's hair.

“Doing okay?” he worries aloud.

“Better now that you're here,” Darren admits. “I don't know what to even say about the other stuff. It still doesn't feel real, I guess?”

“That makes sense.” Chris swallows hard, wishing he knew how to ease Darren's pain. “You should sleep though, if you can. If you can't, I'll be here.”

“I'll try,” Darren agrees, tightening his grip around Chris's waist. Just don't let go, alright?”

“Never,” Chris vows. “Now close your eyes.”

Darren exhales in a rush, his eyes prickling with unshed tears. He resettles his cheek over Chris's heart and lets the reassuring thump of his heartbeat lull him back to sleep.

* * *

Chris surfaces from sleep slowly and in stages. The first thing he becomes aware of is something amorphously pleasurable. In the beginning, he assumes he's dreaming even though there are no visuals to accompany the dream, just sensations of warmth, a gentle rocking, and irregular puffs of hot breath against his neck that make him shiver. The air around him feels humid and thick, making it hard to breathe normally. For a while he drifts, content to simply appreciate how good everything feels.

Ultimately, it's the sound of a lush, broken moan that pulls him towards the surface. He startles at the noise, dragging his eyes open with considerable effort. It takes him a long moment to place the sensations with what he's seeing. Darren's still lying across him, but his body has migrated even closer in sleep. His head is now tucked into Chris's neck, breathing damp, open mouthed gusts of air into Chris's skin. Darren's thrown one leg over Chris's body and he's gently rocking into him. Chris is so hard that he  _aches_ , made worse by the way he can feel Darren's cock practically throbbing against his hip. He not sure how long they've been unconsciously moving together, but definitely long enough to be a problem for Chris. There's no combination of unsexy things he can think of that are going to make his “problem” go away either.

It would be so easy to simply leave Darren to his own devices, to let him take his pleasure against Chris's body. Chris is pretty sure he'd enjoy it too, possibly even enough to climax, but he doesn't want to take advantage of Darren given all he's been through lately. Chris is aware that waking Darren up is the right thing to do, even though it'll undoubtedly make things very awkward for the two of them.

He sighs heavily and clenches his jaw with the effort it's taking not to thrust his hips forward as he reaches over and begins trying to shake Darren awake. “Darren,” Chris calls softly, getting no answer.

“Hey, come on, wake up,” he coaxes, tapping his cheek.

“Mmm Chris?” Darren groans, his voice rumbling low and deep in his chest.  _Wow, really not helping,_ Chris thinks, barely stifling a groan of his own.

“Yeah Dare,” Chris responds. “You were... uh, in your sleep,” he starts to explain helplessly, hand vaguely gesturing towards their hips in hopes that he won't have to spell it out any more than that for Darren.

Darren finally blinks his eyes open, his hips grinding forward one last time unconsciously before he looks at Chris and realizes what's happened. He jerks guiltily, backing up his pelvis so that his erection is no longer pressed hard in the hollow of Chris’s hip. “Oh shit, I didn't mean – I was sleeping and I guess I – um –” he trails off, blushing beet red. “God, I'm so sorry.”

“No no, don't be. I was asleep until a second ago too and I was – we were...” Chris rambles, not sure how to explain. He almost wants to laugh at how neither of them seem capable of finishing a sentence at the moment. “I really didn't mind,” he eventually says, pointing to where his black boxer briefs are tenting obscenely to illustrate his statement. He watches Darren's eyes travel down the length of Chris's body to the prominent bulge in his underwear. Darren licks his lips unconsciously as his gaze meets the outline of Chris's dick. That visual alone is enough to make Chris audibly gasp. He's so turned on that it's actually starting to hurt.

“I should probably go... take care of things in the bathroom or something,” Darren murmurs reluctantly, biting his lip.

Suddenly, Chris is struck by how much he doesn't want Darren to leave. He doesn't know if he should admit that thought aloud though, given what Darren's been through in the past twenty-four hours. Chris had naturally assumed that sex would be the last thing on his mind at the moment, but what if he's wrong and it's just the bit of life-affirming connection that Darren needs? Chris can't be sure, so he decides to simply put the alternative out there while leaving the decision-making up to Darren.

“Or you could just kiss me?” he suggests, heart hammering with fear and desire in equal measure.

“But... I mean, fuck, you'd still want...?” Darren looks directly into Chris's eyes, obviously overwhelmed.

“I want you,” Chris replies simply. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, okay? There's no rush or pressure, of course. I just want  _us,_ whether that's now or a week from now. Basically whenever you're ready.”

Darren's eyes widen in shock as his jaw drops. “God, you're amazing, Chris. I love you so much.”

Chris smiles. “I love you too. Now shut up and kiss me,” he all but demands.

“Okay,  _yeah_  okay,” Darren breathes, pushing up on one elbow and hovering over Chris's body for a long moment. He traces the outline of Chris's face with his free hand, leaning in and finally brushing Chris's lips with his own. It's nothing but a gentle caress, brimming with tenderness. It's sweet and all, but it's not what Chris needs right now, not when Darren's  _so close_  but still not close enough. Chris lets his impatience get the better of him and wraps his leg around Darren's body. He hooks his leg around Darren's waist and nudges him forward until there isn't an inch of space between their hips. Then, he tangles his hand in Darren's hair and tugs lightly as he parts his lips and deepens their kiss.

Chris can feel the moment the last bit of Darren's hesitance crumbles as his hips stutter forward, lining up just right. They moan in near unison and Chris shivers at the way he can feel Darren's mouth vibrate against his. Chris lets his hand skim down the length of Darren's spine. He pauses when he gets to the waistband of Darren's boxers, but then Darren grinds forward again and he can't think about anything other than how good it feels, how good they feel moving together. Chris rucks up Darren's sleeveless undershirt because he just needs  _more_ , exposing smooth, warm skin he maps with his hands like he's experiencing Darren for the first time. Darren breaks away from Chris's mouth for a moment and Chris whines involuntarily at the loss of contact. But then Darren's sliding his shirt over his head in one fluid motion and oh, that's so much better. Chris allows himself a short while to drink Darren in. It's far from the first time he's seen him without a shirt on, but somehow it feels different and new now that Darren is hot and needy and right where Chris needs him to be.

“Can I?” Darren asks, his hand teasing at the hem of the v-neck shirt that Chris is wearing.

“Y-yeah,” Chris manages, panting a little.

Darren's eyes are darker than Chris has ever seen them before, practically black such that the pupils are nearly indistinguishable from the irises. Darren sits back on his heels, straddling Chris's thighs so that he can sit up enough to pull off his shirt. Chris slides it off gracelessly, giggling when it gets stuck over his head and Darren has to rescue him, helping him tug it off the rest of the way.

The laughter dies in his chest in an instant as Darren launches himself at Chris with renewed urgency. Their lips meet again and this time there's nothing gentle or tentative about it. Darren presses Chris down into the mattress, whimpering into the kiss when Chris tugs on the curls at the nape of his neck.

“You – really like – that, huh?” Chris gasps out between kisses.

“Fuck yeah,” Darren moans. “Too much – probably.”

“No – such thing,” Chris protests. Then their thrusts line up just right and he loses the power of speech altogether. He slides his free hand down to Darren's ass, holding him in place as they both rock together, building up to a steady rhythm.

“You feel so good,” Darren whimpers. He lets his kisses migrate lower, nipping and sucking along Chris's jawline before finding a spot at the base of Chris's neck that drives him wild.

“Faster,” Chris groans, spreading his legs to give Darren better access between them. But it's not until Darren bites down on the tendon in his neck that Chris loses any remaining restraint. He begins thrusting up into Darren in earnest, matching his pace. The head of his cock catches on the underside of Darren's more often than not, a blissfully sweet torture, simultaneously not enough and way too much. Darren's hip stutter out of rhythm as he stops mouthing at Chris's overheated skin and pauses for a moment to pant against his neck.

It's only then that Chris realizes that Darren's a bit ahead of him, judging by the damp spot on the front of his boxers where he's been steadily leaking pre-come. Seeing Darren so vocal and already so undone makes him practically growl with possessiveness and need. He's simply not ready for things to be over so soon, not when teasing Darren and watching him fall apart feels this amazing. Chris wouldn't say he's  _selfish_  in bed, necessarily; however, when he's the one giving blow jobs or hand jobs, it's usually because he knows it's his turn or it feels like the polite thing to do. He's rarely done it out of any true altruism or because it turns him on all that much. But god, he's already imagining spending hours lazily teasing Darren with his hands, mouth, and cock. Darren's just so gorgeous and responsive when he's aroused that there's liable to be no end to the creative ways Chris will find to make him beg for more. Chris thinks he might be able to come just from that alone, from the heady power and desire he'd feel with Darren naked, whining, and spread out below him, his and  _only_  his for the taking.

Mind now filled with fantasies, Chris can't help but want his reality to be a little closer to the very pretty pictures in his head. He keeps one hand cupped around Darren's ample ass and slides his other from where it's been tangled in Darren's hair down to his back. He grins, relishing the whimper of protest Darren gives, momentarily distracted from his task of mouthing at Chris's collarbone. Next, Chris flips them over in one smooth motion, rolling Darren onto his back on the bed and hovering above him. Darren moans with unabashed desire as Chris nudges his legs open wider with his knee and then straddles Darren's thigh, rocking down and in.

“My turn,” Chris announces between thrusts, setting a punishing pace that barely allows either of them a chance to catch their breaths.

“Yours, all yours,” Darren agrees, his pupils blown wide and his Adam's apple bobbing reflexively as he swallows hard. Chris isn't sure if he's referring to whose turn it is or getting off on how possessive Chris is being. Either way it's hot enough to make Chris's cock throb. Okay, maybe he's closer to coming than he thought he was moments ago.

“You feel amazing,” Darren moans. “Don't stop,  _please._ ” Chris appreciates the way Darren seems to get more and more vocal as he approaches his climax instead of the reverse.

“Never,” Chris swears.

Darren tips his head back against the pillow, baring his throat to Chris. He doesn't need any more invitation than that to begin kissing over Darren's warm flesh, marveling at the way the soft skin and scratchy stubble provide the perfect counterpoints, leaving Chris's lips and cheeks red and tingling.

“I'm gonna –” Darren groans. “Fuck, so close.”

“Yeah?” Chris gasps. It's not a surprise that Darren is nearing orgasm, but still, something about hearing those words from Darren's lips threatens to undo Chris as well. He works his arm between their undulating bodies, reaching down until his fingers skim over the head of Darren's leaking cock, separated only by a thin layer of cotton. He cups Darren's dick more firmly through his boxers, leaving his thumb pressed against the sensitive slit.

Darren practically keens at the contact, tucking his face into the side of Chris's neck to muffle his cries.

“C'mon, come for me, baby,” Chris commands.

Darren thrusts into his hand one final time and then his whole body locks up as he begins to come. His arm winds around Chris's waist to hold him near while his cock pulses, hips rocking forward again and again.

“There you go,” Chris whispers as Darren clings to him, shivering through the last few aftershocks.

As soon as Darren's body stills beneath him, Chris's hand comes up to stroke Darren's cheek, tilting his chin up before leaning in with intent. Darren's mouth is open and pliant, chest heaving as he continues to come down from his climax. Chris licks into his mouth, trying to focus on kissing Darren as a way to distract from just how painfully aroused he is. He desperately needs to come and soon, but he assumes that Darren is still too sensitive from coming moments ago to be able to handle him thrusting against his now softening dick.

Chris grabs Darren's bicep with his other hand, squeezing the solid muscle as he tries to ground himself. It's not a long term solution to Chris's problem but he's managing to delay his orgasm for the time being semi-successfully. He's so focused on the scent of sex in the air, how good Darren feels beneath him, and the way Darren's still shivering as they kiss that he's completely unprepared for the sensation of Darren's hand brushing over the front of his boxer briefs.

“Can I touch you? Fuck, I wanna touch you,” Darren babbles against his lips.

“Yes, god yes.  _Please_ ,” Chris groans, mind already blanking out at the prospect.

He expects Darren to simply cup him through his underwear just as he'd done earlier, but clearly Darren has other plans. He immediately slides his hand under the waistband of his briefs, pulling his cock out. Then he pulls down his boxer briefs, tucking the waistband under his balls to lay him bare.

“Jesus,” Chris grunts as Darren wraps his sweat slick hand around him. It's too much and not enough all at once, and Chris knows at this rate, he won't last much longer either.

Chris gives himself a moment just to feel, eyes fluttering closed because all his senses are overwhelmed. Darren rubs his thumb over the head of his cock and his hips snap forward automatically, thrusting into Darren's hand. Yeah, definitely not going to last.

Darren sets up a leisurely pace that nonetheless leaves Chris on edge. He's torn between wanting to demand that Darren speed things up and let Darren continue to do things his way because even this tortuously slow, it's still bliss.

He drops his head to Darren's shoulder, pressing his forehead against Darren's sweaty, salt-tinged skin. He feels Darren press a damp, open-mouthed kiss to his cheek, then another to the side of his neck, then a third just beneath his collarbone, like he's playing some elaborate game of connect the dots that only he can see. Chris is so focused on the way Darren feels beneath him and all around him as his hand wraps around his cock, moving at an increasing pace as Chris's hips stutter forward, that he's unprepared for the sudden shock of Darren's tongue flicking over his nipple.

“Shit,” he moans in response. There's a sharp spike of pleasure-pain as Darren uses his teeth in the same spot, then presses an almost apologetic wet kiss to the same nipple.

“Good?” Darren checks, his voice husky.

“Hnng,” is Chris's not so eloquent reply.

“I'm going to take that as a yes,” Darren says with fond amusement.

“Yes, don't stop,” Chris urges him on.

Darren repeats the same series of steps on his other nipple, bolder this time. Chris cries out at the flash of teeth that coincides with Darren running a thumb along a prominent vein on the underside of his cock. He's so, so close, but he manages to stave off his orgasm because he  _needs_  to see first.

He drags his eyes open with considerable effort, ducking his head to note Darren's blissed out expression as he kisses along the muscled plains of his chest. Then he's gazing lower to where Darren's hand is wrapped around his red and weeping dick. The visuals in combination with the sensations are almost too much for him to bear, even as he knows he'll be replaying this scene in his mind for days, if not weeks to come.

“I'm close,” he warns. “I just need...”

“Anything, baby,” Darren promises, his face rapturous as he watches Chris fall apart under his hands.

“Faster,  _oh_  – and harder,” Chris practically growls. “Then kiss me?”

Darren chuckles at the combination of demands. He tongues around Chris's nipple one final time, leaving him moaning. Then he kisses a trail back up towards Chris's lips while his hand flies across his cock so fast that it's practically a blur.

“ _Yes_ ,” Chris encourages, feeling his abdominal muscles clench and his balls draw up as he rapidly approaches his climax. Finally, Darren's lips are on his again, his mouth spicy-sweet and damp. Chris tries to kiss back as best he can but it's hard to focus on anything other than how good he feels. He pants as Darren's tongue seeks entrance into his mouth and then Darren swipes his thumb over the head of his cock and his whole body spasms as he begins to come harder than he has in ages.

Darren works him through it, his hand slowing to a steady, almost leisurely pace as he milks every last bit of Chris's orgasm from him. Chris can feel his come sliding over Darren's fist and down onto his boxer briefs and his own belly, but for once he couldn't care less about the mess. It's hard to care about something so trivial when he can't feel his legs, arms, or anything, really, aside from Darren wringing every last bit of ecstasy from his body. Chris pants against his mouth as his muscles go lax and he collapses onto Darren's body, no longer having the strength in his limbs to hold himself up.

Darren laughs and delicately releases his grasp on Chris's now softening cock. He reaches out with his clean hand and grabs a few Kleenex from the box on the nightstand. He starts by quickly wiping the come off his other hand. Then, he notices a small smear of come left behind on his index finger and sucks it into his mouth while Chris watches with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Oh god,” Chris hisses, swallowing hard. Seeing something so erotic so soon after coming is physically painful, but he still can't tear his eyes away from the sight.

Darren looks up at Chris and not so subtly licks his lips, clearly reveling in torturing him. Chris lets out an involuntary squeak in reply, half noise of protest, half sound of pleasure. It only makes Darren laugh harder. He throws the soiled tissues into the trash and then grabs a handful of fresh ones and begins dabbing at the rapidly drying come on Chris's belly, cleaning him up as best he can without soap and water.

“Thanks,” Chris murmurs hoarsely as he watches Darren toss the remaining tissues into the trashcan.

“No no, thank  _you_ ,” Darren grins. Satisfied that he's cleaned Chris up fairly well, he assists Chris in pulling up his now sticky boxer briefs and tucking in his dick again. Finally, Chris lifts up his body with shaking arms and rolls onto his side in the center of the bed, taking Darren with him. Darren hums happily as he spoons up against Chris, his back snug against Chris's front.

Chris presses a quick kiss to Darren's hair and winds an arm around his waist as he snuggles closer. “We should probably shower,” he pants, heart still pounding as he comes down.

“Probably,” Darren agrees, though he makes no effort to move.

“I'm starving,” Chris remarks idly. It's not surprising given that he'd only had a small salad for lunch yesterday and skipped dinner entirely because he'd been too heartbroken after being stood up to eat. Up until now, he's been so lost in his desire for Darren that it'd been easy to ignore his gnawing hunger. He's dizzy at how quickly things have gone from not okay to very,  _very_  okay. Great, even.

Darren audibly groans. “Me too,” he murmurs before rolling over and attacking Chris's neck, leaving a trail of hot nips and sucks in his wake.

It feels so good that Chris is loathe to interrupt him, even though he knows that it's an exercise in futility. “Remember how we talked about me being younger than you - the whole I'm your faux trophy husband thing?”

“Mhm,” Darren mumbles against his skin, obviously distracted.

“Well, I'm 26, not 16. It's a nice thought, but I can't exactly get hard again in five minutes flat, you know?” Chris explains in an amused tone.

“Oh,” Darren hums in recognition, pulling back from where he's been marking the skin around Chris's collarbone. “Right, sorry about that,” he says, ducking his head to hide his blush. “Not the first time I've been accused of being a little... overeager in bed?”

“No worries,” Chris laughs, patting his ass. “It's always nice to feel wanted.”

“ _So_  wanted,” Darren practically growls. Chris feels his dick give a faint twitch in response.

“You're going to be the death of me, you know that?” Chris groans. He sees Darren's face fall and fuck, he could seriously slap himself for his poor choice of words. “Shit Darren, I didn't mean...” he starts to apologize.  _Leave it to me to ruin a good moment by reminding my boyfriend of one of the worst moments of his life_ , Chris thinks glumly.

“It's okay, I know,” Darren tells him, trying to smile reassuringly. Chris immediately notices that the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He's mentally debating the relative merits of attempting to get Darren to open up about last night versus continuing with his original plan of getting Darren out of the house and keeping him busy so he doesn't have to think about it when his stomach growls, loudly enough for Darren to hear.

“Man, you weren't kidding when you said you were starving, huh? And here I thought you were just hungry for me," he chuckles.

“Who says I can't be both?” Chris teases with a wicked smile.

“Touché. So, what'll it be today, my little minx? Am I making you pancakes again or should I switch it up and cook waffles?” Darren asks.

“My vote is for waffles, but I don't have a waffle iron, sadly, so we'll have to go out. There's a great little brunch spot around the corner though, right across from the Farmer's Market. Would you be up for that?” Chris inquires.

“Sure, sounds wonderful.”

Chris sits up, grimacing a little at the way the front of his boxer briefs sticks to him. “Definitely need a shower first, however.”

“You mean you don't want to go out in public still smelling like sex?” Darren pouts, actually  _pouts_ , like he's disappointed that everyone at brunch won't know what they were doing earlier. “You're no fun.”

“I seem to remember you whistling a very different tune twenty minutes ago,” Chris purrs.

“Fair enough,” Darren laughs. “Hey, so what's the hot water situation at your complex? Because if it's anything like mine, there's barely enough hot water for one shower, let alone two...”

Chris grins as he starts to catch on to Darren's endgame. “Ah, so you're saying we should conserve hot water?”

“Yes, it seems like the responsible thing to do. For the environment, of course.”

“Of course,” Chris echoes. “I never knew you were such a conservationist.”

“Oh yes, the earth is our most important resource, reduce, renew, recycle, all that jazz,” Darren gamely plays along.

“Very convincing.” Chris stands, walking around the bed to where Darren is still sprawled out. He reaches for his hand and pulls him to his feet. “Come along, no time like the present,” he says as he leads Darren towards the bathroom, laughing the whole way.

* * *

“Is your breakfast everything you'd hoped it would be?” Darren asks Chris an hour later, as he tucks into a large Belgian waffle smothered with fresh berries, whipped cream, and syrup.

“And then some,” Chris groans. “Totally worth it, even if it's going to take me a week to burn off all the calories.”

“I'm sure we burned off quite a few this morning,” Darren points out.

“You raise a good point,” Chris acknowledges. “Sex cardio is my favorite kind of cardio.”

“Yeah,” Darren murmurs, staring off into space. Chris feels his stomach flip nervously. Darren's been strangely quiet and almost... distant since they left the apartment. Sure, physically he's sitting across the table from Chris mere feet away, but emotionally, he might as well be on the other side of the world. Chris gets it, he really does, but he can't help but want to find a way to share Darren's burden with him. It's not something that anyone should have to go through alone. He's just not sure how to bring it up, how to get Darren talking without inadvertently making things worse.

“How about you? How's the omelet?” Chris asks, noting that Darren appears to be picking at it more than eating it.

“It's fine,” Darren shrugs. “I'm just not that hungry.”

“You need to eat, honey. At least a little?” Chris coaxes.

“Maybe later,” Darren replies noncommittally, sitting his fork down on the plate.

“We can get you a to-go box so you can bring the leftovers back to my apartment,” he suggests.

“Sure,” Darren agrees, resting his cheek on his fist as he stares down at the table.

Chris bites his lip, still not sure how to proceed. He waits a full minute, but Darren remains silent and won't even look at him.

When Chris can't stand the tension any longer, he reaches out and covers Darren's hand with his, squeezing gently. “Hey, want to talk about it?” he asks.

Darren sighs and finally meets his gaze. “I don't know what there is to say that hasn't been said already. I just feel... responsible.”

Chris opens his mouth to protest that it's not Darren's fault because it  _isn't_. But before he can say it, Darren's speaking up again.

“And before you tell me it's not my fault, I know that it isn't, at least logically. But death isn't really logical or rational, you know? I was right there in the room watching it happen and it  _still_  doesn't feel real to me. One second she was there, totally fine and talking to me, and the next second she was... gone,” Darren murmurs. “It's just hard to comprehend, you know?”

“I do,” Chris sighs. “You were probably in shock when it first happened too, which wouldn't have helped matters any.”

“I think I'm still in shock, to be honest,” Darren admits. “And I'm terrified of what happens when it finally starts to sink in for real. I don't know if I'll be able to bear it, Chris,” he manages, voice thick with unshed tears.

Chris stands and walks around to Darren's side of the booth, sliding in next to him. He wraps an arm around Darren's shoulders and pulls him close. “You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for being, sweetheart. And whatever happens, you won't have to go through it alone, okay? I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I want to help however I can,” he swears.

Darren drops his head to Chris's shoulder. “I'm so lucky I have you to lean on,” he murmurs hoarsely as he surreptitiously wipes at his eyes.

“And I feel just as lucky to have you,” Chris replies. He's quiet for a moment, rubbing Darren's back as he tries to find the right way to word his request. “I just need you to talk to me about how you're feeling so I know how to be there for you,” he eventually requests. “Don't shut me out, okay?”

“That's not my intention now. Hell, that wasn't even my intention last night, I was just lost and confused and...” he trails off, searching for the right word.

“Drunk?” Chris fills in teasingly, hoping to break the tension.

Darren snorts, somewhere between a dark laugh and a sob. “Yeah, something like that.” He's quiet for a moment, picking up Chris's free hand and tracing along each of his knuckles in turn. “I guess that's what I do when something's bothering me?” he finally continues. “I either try to pretend that everything's okay and turn into this fake cheery everything is sunshine and roses Darren or... I run.”

Chris's face darkens at the admission, because that's probably his biggest fear: being abandoned by someone he has real feelings for, someone like Darren. That's why he's tended to stick to safe, low risk boyfriends in the past, ever since Greg. It's what he'd momentarily thought was happening last night when Darren stood him up.

“Chris, look at me,” Darren commands, stroking the outline of Chris's jaw with his thumb before gently turning his head so he can stare directly into his eyes.

Chris bites his lip nervously, overwhelmed by the sudden fire in Darren's eyes.

“I meant what I said last night. I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm all in. The only running I'll be doing is towards you, not away from you. I need you to know and believe that,” he vows, his voice low but determined.

Chris nods at last. “I do. I believe you.”

Darren searches his face for any sign of hesitance or remaining fear. Satisfied with what he finds there, he nods as well and then drops his head to Chris's shoulder once more.

“The reason I told you about my typical response when I'm upset wasn't to scare you,” he starts to explain. “I just needed you to understand that my coping strategies leave a lot to be desired. I've been blessed that I haven't had to go through that many difficult things, but when I get really overwhelmed, I guess I clam up or try to escape?”

“Yeah, I get that,” Chris replies. “I tend to shut down and want to be alone when I'm upset about something. But then again I'm an introvert, so that's probably not all that surprising?”

“Whereas I'm terrified of being alone right now,” Darren confesses. “Guess that's the extrovert in me talking? Who knew we were so predictable,” he tries to joke, though it comes out closer to a sob than a laugh.

“You aren't alone though,” Chris reminds him, squeezing his hand. “And you don't have to be alone anytime soon. You can sleep at my place for as long as you need the company or I'll stay at yours if you want to sleep in your own bed. Whatever you need, all you have to do is ask, okay?”

“Okay,” Darren manages, swallowing hard. “I'll probably stay at your place then, at least for tonight. Possibly longer than that, depending on how things go.”

“Woohoo, extended slumber party,” Chris cheers, attempting a little levity.

“I'm glad you're the one hosting. You have way better snacks at your place than I do,” Darren says. “Not that I'm really eating much at the moment anyway, but...” he sighs, looking down at his still full plate.

Chris kisses his temple. “Eat a few more bites and I'll let you have dessert,” he prods.

“What's for dessert? The mountain of extra whipped cream on your waffle? Because if so, hard pass.”

“Me,” Chris murmurs huskily, a wicked gleam in his eye.

“You?” Darren frowns in confusion, tilting his head to gaze up Chris.

“Yep,” Chris confirms. He gestures to his body and then winks.

“Oh,” Darren hums in recognition, his eyes going dark. “Twice in one day?”

“Technically this would make three. There was that... moment in the shower?” Chris reminds him.

“Right, how could I forget?” Darren picks up his utensil, stabbing a forkful of eggs. “You sure do know how to motivate a guy.”

“You know what they always say – third time's a charm,” Chris grins.


	8. Chapter 8

Chris awakens to the sensation of hand slapping dully against his shoulder. 

“Ow,” he groans quietly. He could swear it had only been a few hours since he and Darren went to bed. He cracks one eye open, sighing in relief as he realizes it's still dark outside. That means he gets to go back to sleep for a few hours. He's about to close his eyes and hopefully return to the vaguely pleasant dream he can't really remember when the sound of a whimper stops him.

He rolls over and sees Darren wound up in the sheets at the far end of his bed, thrashing about so wildly it seems like a miracle he hasn't fallen onto the floor already. It's obvious that he's having a far less pleasant dream, or a nightmare, really. Chris hates that this is turning into a seemingly more and more frequent occurrence.

He scoots over until he can detangle Darren from the sheets and duvet. Then, he wraps both arms around Darren's waist and manages to tug his dead weight a few inches back towards the center of the bed. Darren shows no sign of registering his presence though, still letting out soft, plaintive cries that send shivers down his spine. Whatever Darren's stuck in, it's clearly not good.

“Darren,” Chris calls, squeezing his shoulder. No response. “Shh, it's okay. You're just having a nightmare,” he soothes as he shakes Darren a little harder. Darren turns his head toward the sound of Chris's voice, but still doesn't open his eyes.

Chris sighs as he cups Darren's cheek. “Darren! Wake up,” he says loudly.

Darren flails as he starts to come back to himself, nearly whacking Chris in the chin in the process. “Chris?” he slurs drowsily.

“Yeah, I'm here, honey,” Chris reassures him. “I think you were having a bad dream. You nearly fell off the bed because you were thrashing around so much.”

“I was. You're right,” Darren sighs.

Chris brushes a damp curl back from his clammy forehead. “Want to talk about it?”

“Maybe in a minute. For now, can you just... hold me?” Darren asks in trembling voice.

“Of course,” Chris breathes. He crawls toward the center of the bed, tugging Darren along with him. He lays back on his pillow and Darren settles his head on his chest. Chris presses a kiss to Darren's hair and then rests his chin atop his head.

It's quiet for a moment before Chris realizes that his shirt is getting damp with Darren's tears.

“Hey, talk to me,” he requests, rubbing his hand up and down Darren's bare arm.

“I just keep seeing it over and over. It feels like I've been back to that moment a hundred times in my head. The sad thing is that every time I think, 'I've got this. Finally, I can fix it and everything will be okay.' And then I can't get to her in time or I do but I can't stop the bleeding. I'm totally...”

“Helpless,” Chris fills in, because it's a feeling he's become sadly all too familiar with lately. He hates that Darren's so upset and he's powerless to fix it for him.

“Yes, exactly,” Darren whispers. “I just can't keep seeing that night after night, Chris. I don't know how much longer I can bear it,” he says, voice breaking with emotion.

“I know, honey.” Chris reaches down to cup Darren's cheek. He wipes his tears away as they fall, trying to figure out the right combination of words to reassure him. “It won't be forever though.”

“Are you sure?” Darren mewls.

“I swear. It'll get easier. It  _has_  to eventually,” Chris promises, hoping against hope that he's right. “But have you thought about talking to someone about it?”

“Besides you?”

“Yeah, like a therapist,” Chris suggests tentatively. “It doesn't make you weak if you need help, you know? Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Darren sniffles, reaching out in the darkness and locating Chris's hand. “Maybe,” he finally says. “There's a woman that does free counseling at the hospital for staff. They are supposed to offer us the option to see her any time one of our patients dies.”

“Did they?” Chris prompts. This is the first he's hearing of it.

“Of course not,” Darren murmurs with more than a faint hint of bitterness. “My supervisor tends to be pretty hands off about that kind of thing. She's not really big on the touchy-feely stuff.”

“That's shitty,” Chris sighs. “But maybe it would worth giving it a shot anyway, if for no other reason than you haven't been getting much rest lately,” he points out. “You've got to be worn out after the past week or two.”

“I'm exhausted,” Darren admits. “Physically, mentally, emotionally – all of it really.”

“I figured. We should have a quiet weekend in this weekend. Stay in our pajamas all day, watch movies on the couch, sleep in extra late.”

“About that,” Darren interjects.

“Hmm?”

“My parents and brother are actually going to be coming into town Saturday,” he explains.

“Oh?” Chris tries to sound casual. He doesn't want to make any assumptions about why Darren's telling him now or what it means that this is first he's hearing of it.

“They want to meet you,” Darren tells him.

Chris waits for a minute, assuming that Darren has more to say than that, but he's gone strangely silent.

“...and how do you feel about that?” Chris finally asks.

“I don't want to put any pressure on you. I know it's pretty early for the whole meet the parents thing and that we haven't been dating all that long, but...” Darren trails off.

“But?” Chris prods.

“Well, we've been going at a pretty fast pace from the start, haven't we? Like yeah, it's only been a month and a half, but I feel like I've known you a lot longer than that. And I'm all in, that much I know for sure. I just don't want to fuck this up, Chris. I don't want to hurt you or scare you off. I almost did that once before and I'm not sure if I could bear it if I lost you for good,” Darren admits.

“Who said I was going anywhere?” Chris asks. He slides his hand down to Darren's chin, tilting his face up. “Look at me,” he directs, his voice low but determined. “I love you. I don't really give a shit about other people's timetable for relationships, I just care about us. If you want me to meet your parents, I'd be honored.”

“Really?” Darren says in a husky voice, tears sliding down his cheeks again.

“Really,” Chris promises. “Now get up here and kiss me.”

Darren crawls up until they are face to face again, close enough that they can breathe the same air. Chris tenderly wipes the tears from his face before leaning in until their lips are brushing at last. Darren winds his arms around Chris's neck, clinging like a drowning man. Chris threads his fingers through Darren's hair as he deepens the kiss, pressing their bodies together and running a hand up and down his back.

Darren is the first one to break away, pressing his forehead to Chris's while he tries to catch his breath. “I love you too – so fucking much. I don't know how I ever got so lucky.”

“I ask myself that same question almost every day,” Chris confesses. He nuzzles Darren's cheek and tries but fails to suppress a yawn.

Darren notices. “What time is it?” he inquires.

Chris turns his head and glances at the display on the digital alarm clock. “Yikes, almost 4 AM.”

He winces, ducking his head. “I'm sorry,” Darren apologizes.

“For what?” Chris frowns.

“Waking you up in the middle of the night for the millionth time. You've got to be exhausted too.”

“I'll be fine. Years of insomnia have made me pretty hardy. I'm used to subsisting on five or six hours of sleep,” Chris insists, brushing off the concern.

“That's not healthy,” Darren scolds.

“Is that your professional opinion?” Chris teases, waggling his eyebrows.

“Yes, but also my opinion as your boyfriend. I wouldn't want you to meet my parents with giant bags under your eyes, after all,” Darren says with mock seriousness.

“You dick,” Chris scoffs, smacking Darren's shoulder. “I'm your much younger trophy boyfriend, remember? I'm sure in comparison to you, I'll look as fresh as a daisy.”

“Naturally,” Darren chuckles fondly. “That goes without saying.”

“You're damn right it does.” Chris's heartbeat speeds up as it dawns on him that this is really  _happening_  and soon. He's going to meet Darren's parents. It's something he hasn't done voluntarily since he was with his college boyfriend many years ago. That had been nothing short of a disaster, which he probably should have seen coming in retrospect.

Greg was newly out of the closet to his disapproving Christian Republican parents and Chris was head over heels in love with his first real boyfriend. But it had only taken Chris about five minutes to realize that their lunch at the country club with Greg's parents was less of organic meeting and more of an ambush, a way for Greg to stick it to his parents for their lack of support and homophobic views. Chris realized he was being used and that he was only a means to an end in Greg's eyes. Ever since then he'd been a lot more guarded and careful with his heart. He was never the first person to say “I love you” first or suggest they enter into an exclusive and committed relationship. It was harder to get hurt if you were always the first to pull away.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Darren asks, pulling Chris out of his morbid reminiscence.

“Nothing important,” Chris assures him.

“If you're thinking it, it's important to me,” Darren insists.

Chris sighs. “I was just thinking about how long it's been since I met a boyfriend's parents. Last time I did was when I was in college and it didn't exactly go that well.”

“Well, you have nothing to fear this time, okay?” Darren swears. “My parents are awesome, my brother is awesome, and most importantly, so are you. They'll love you and maybe I'm biased, but I think you'll really like them too. It'll just be a gushing mutual admiration society.”

“Sounds like fun,” Chris murmurs with more than a hint of hesitation.

Darren must notice because he reaches out a hand to stroke Chris's cheek. “Listen, the reason that I was unsure about bringing this up is because I didn't want to put any pressure on you, okay? So if you don't think you're ready or if this is going to stress you out, you don't have to meet them yet. I'm sure there will be plenty of other opportunities to meet them in the future. I won't be upset or judge you for saying no.”

“No no, it's not that, honey. I do want to meet them. It just... scares me sometimes,” Chris tries to explain.

“What scares you?” Darren prompts.

“How much I feel for you already scares me. What an important part of my life you've become so quickly  _terrifies_  me, to be honest. I don't usually fall hard like this. I tend to pick guys that are safe and boring, guys that I know like me way more than I like them. That way I know I won't get hurt, because they aren't going to dump me. And even if they did, losing them won't be the end of the world. You're different. You're the first guy in a really long time that I can see forever with and yeah, that scares the shit out of me.”

“It scares me too. You aren't in this alone, okay? I've probably dated more than you and I've always been fairly... eager when it comes to relationships, but deep down, I've known that those relationships have always had an expiration date on them. They were people I could see myself with for a finite amount of time, whether that was my senior year of high school, a summer-long fling, or the length of my nursing school internship. But not with you, never with you. I really think you're it for me, Chris. And since I've always been a pretty fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy, being easily able to imagine our life years into the future is a pretty overwhelming thing. If I dwell on it for too long, it's easy to get scared and want to bolt. But you know what keeps me from doing that?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, what?”

“You. Being with you, talking to you on the phone, holding you as we drift off to sleep – it all just feels right. I don't have to overthink things when I'm with you, because I'm certain that I'm right where I belong. I can feel it deep into my bones, to my very core. You're like coming home, every single time.” Darren's eyes search Chris's face as he speaks with absolute conviction. “I don't think we can screw this up when we both know what we've got here.”

Chris is silent for a moment, just trying to take it all in. He's always been the type of guy to doubt, to question, and to overthink absolutely everything, even when it's to his own detriment to do so. But with Darren, it's different. He feels safe and secure when they are together. Darren pulls him out of his head and into the world, makes him feel gorgeous and witty and wanted. “You're right. When we're together, I don't have to doubt us. It's going to take me some time to unlearn some of the bad habits I've been using as a defense mechanism to keep from getting hurt. I want to keep moving forward at our pace, not whatever pace is supposed to be standard for relationships. And yeah, that involves meeting your family. If that's what you want, then I want that to.”

“Good,” Darren exhales in rush. He closes the gap between them and plants a gentle kiss on Chris's lips. “Is Sunday okay for you?” he asks as they break apart. “We were talking about doing brunch at Gramercy's Tavern. Chuck and his wife Lucy are going to come too. They might even bring the new baby.”

“Sunday's perfect,” Chris agrees.

“We should sleep now,” Darren nudges. “You have to be up in two and a half hours, after all.”

Chris groans. “That's going to suck.”

“I'm sorry, baby. I hate that I keep waking you up in the middle of the night.”

“Shh, it's not your fault, Darren. You don't really have a choice about when you have nightmares, and if you're upset, I want to help. Do you think you'll be okay to sleep now?”

“I hope so,” Darren murmurs. “Can you just hold me, at least until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Chris agrees. He folds the pillow in half and tucks it under his head and then reaches for Darren. Darren rests his head in the hollow beneath Chris's collarbone, slinging an arm low across his waist to keep Chris close.

Chris wraps his arm around Darren's upper body, squeezing Darren's shoulder. “Okay?” he asks as he soothingly trails his fingers up and down Darren's bicep.

“Yeah,” Darren whispers and snuggles in closer to Darren's chest. “Just don't let go, please?”

“I won't,” Chris swears. And they stay that way, tangled up in one another, until they both drift off to sleep, secure and at home.

* * *

“Breathe, Chris,” Darren reminds him as he digs a twenty out of his wallet to pay the taxi driver. “They're going to love you, I swear.”

“How do you know that?” Chris worries aloud, smoothing down his checked button down shirt and picking at invisible lint at his charcoal gray dress slacks.

“Well, for starters, because  _I_  love you. That's good enough for my parents, seeing me with someone I care about who makes me happy. And you do make me really happy – you know that, right?” Darren checks.

“Yeah, of course I do,” Chris smiles tentatively, leaning forward and giving Darren a quick peck on the lips.

“C'mon, let's go,” Darren urges, offering a hand to help Chris out of the cab. Darren laces his fingers through Chris's as they step onto the sidewalk outside Gramercy's Tavern. “I'm probably kind of biased but I think my family is pretty great. You're also pretty great, so it'll be a match made in heaven, okay? Trust me,” Darren reassures, squeezing Chris's hand.

Chris takes a deep, steadying breath and follows Darren inside the restaurant. While Darren gives their name to the hostess and she pulls up their reservation, Chris takes a moment to take in the décor. The space feels open and airy, with warm wood floors, oriental rugs, and modern lighting fixtures, an appealing blend of old and new.

“It looks part of your party has already been seated, if you want to follow me,” the hostess says and begins leading the two of them towards a large table tucked away in a back alcove.

Darren's parents must see them coming before Chris sees them, because by the time they walk into view, they are already on their feet and ready to greet them, grinning widely. Chris smiles back, heart thudding dully in his chest with a potent combination of excitement and nerves.

Darren goes to greet his mother first, an absolutely tiny Filipino woman dressed casually in a pink cashmere sweater set and black cigarette pants. “Hi mama,” he greets her excitedly, wrapping her up in a big hug and lifting her off her feet as they squeeze each other tightly. Chris awkwardly hangs back a few feet behind them, unsure if he should attempt to make polite small talk with Darren's dad or just wait to be introduced.

“It's so good to see you, my love,” she coos as she pulls back to see Darren, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Darren turns and signals for Chris to join him. “Mom, this is my boyfriend, Chris,” he introduces him proudly.

“Hi, it's wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Criss,” Chris says, internally cringing at how high-pitched and shaky his voice sounds to his own ears.

“Oh, please, call me Cerina,” she insists, holding open her arms. Chris steps forward, letting her hug him much like she did with Darren, with no trace of coldness or formality in her greeting. When she releases him from her embrace, she smiles, studying his face. “We've heard so much about you from Darren that I feel like I know you already!”

Chris exchanges a private smile with Darren before replying, “most of it good, I hope?”

“Oh, it's been nothing but glowing remarks since the day you two met. I might even say Darren was gushing about you – wouldn't you agree, Bill?” she comments, turning towards Darren's father.

“Absolutely. I'll let you in on a little secret, Chris,” he whispers conspiratorially. “I think our Darren is quite taken with you.”

Darren rolls his eyes, playing along with the joke. “Daaad, you weren't supposed to tell anyone. Stop embarrassing me,” he whines in a fairly good impression of a petulant teenager.

“Chris, this is my husband, Bill, in case you hadn't figured that out already,” Mrs. Criss chuckles.

“Great to officially meet you,” Chris responds, offering his hand to shake.

“And you as well, Chris,” Mr. Criss says, returning his handshake with a firm grip.

“Hey Dad,” Darren says next, giving him a hug as well.

“Now that we've gotten the introductions out of the way, shall we sit?” Cerina prompts, stepping back around to the table behind them. She takes her seat at one end of the table, with Bill sitting across from her on the opposite side of the table. Darren sits down next to her and beckons for Chris to sit in the chair beside him

“Where are Chuck and Lucy?” Darren asks.

“They're on their way. Chuck texted us about twenty minutes ago when their Uber driver picked them up, so they should be here soon. It's always harder getting out of the house on time when you've got a little one and all her required accessories to pack up,” Cerina explains.

“Oh good, so they are bringing Rosie after all?” Darren practically cheers.

“Yes, they are,” she replies.

“I'm so glad that you'll get to meet her,” Darren comments, turning to Chris. “She's the cutest thing, and she's at a really fun age right now.”

“I'm excited too,” Chris responds. “And of course she's adorable, she has your genes.”

“Aww, you're too kind,” Darren murmurs, slinging an arm around Chris and tipping his head to rest on Chris's shoulder briefly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chris sees Cerina and Bill gaze at the two of them, then turn and share a look of pride. Chris feels some of the tension in his chest start to unspool, breathing a little easier at how laid back and welcoming Darren's parents have seemed so far.

A waitress makes her way over to the table, standing in front of Darren and Chris. “Hi, can I get you two something to drink while you wait on the rest of your party?” she inquires.

Chris looks over at Darren, who is glancing at the menu and hemming and hawing over something. “I'll have a Diet Coke, thanks,” he replies.

“Mom, what did you get?” Darren asks. “Which tea is that?”

“I think it's the Caribbean black iced tea?” Cerina responds. “Do you want to try it?”

Darren nods and leans over, taking a quick swig from her straw. “Ooh, that's good,” Darren enthuses. “I'll have the same – the black iced tea,” he adds.

“Okay great, I'll have your drinks right out,” she tells them, scribbling down the drink orders on her pad.

When she steps away, Cerina turns to Chris. “So Chris, Darren was telling me you're a teacher?”

“Yes, I teach high school English and Literature,” Chris replies.

“Which school do you teach at?” Bill asks.

“The Beacon School? It's in Manhattan on West 44th.”

“Is that public or private?” Cerina wonders.

“It's public, but it's a college preparatory school so we incorporate a lot of the principles and teaching standards from private schools, actually. It's smaller than most in the area, with just over a thousand students total. It's one of the best public schools in New York City in terms of test scores and graduation rates. We also have some pretty good extracurriculars.”

“Chris is also the faculty advisor for their literary magazine, Dad. He showed me a few back issues and they've got some really talented writers and poets there,” Darren brags. Then, he turns his attention back to Chris, adding, “My dad is a big patron of arts. He's on the board for an orchestra as well as a theater conservatory back in San Fran.”

“Well, that sounds very impressive, Chris. Do you do any writing of your own?” Bill prompts.

Chris blushes, debating on whether or not to tell the truth. His writing isn't something he readily talks about or shares very often. He's learned the hard way through early experiences back in Clovis that talking about his stories only allows the people around him the opportunity to discourage him from his lofty aspirations or even openly mock him for daring to dream so big. He hasn't even worked up the courage to show  _Darren_  his manuscript yet, someone he loves and trusts implicitly.

“I do some, but it's really more of a hobby than anything else,” he finally admits.

“What type of work? Fiction, nonfiction, poetry?” Cerina inquires, leaning forward and resting her chin on her fists, as if what Chris has to say is that intriguing.

“I write fiction. Sometimes short stories, but the manuscript I've actually finished is novel length,” he continues.

“I've seen it. It's quite the thick, lengthy document. But  _someone_  won't let me read it,” Darren pouts, giving Chris a pointed look.

“You aren't really my target demographic,” Chris teases. “You'd need to be about twenty years younger.”

“Oh, you write children's books? How lovely,” Cerina exclaims, her eyes crinkling with genuine warmth as she says so. Chris feels that same warmth spread through his chest and stomach. Even his own parents can't seem to muster any genuine enthusiasm for his writing, often dismissing it as his “little hobby” or worse. They'd found it cute when he was a kid, joking about how at any family or social event, Chris was most likely to be found in the corner, scribbling away in a notebook with a look of extreme concentration on his face. But as he grew older and Hannah's medical situation became increasingly dire, they started talking more and more about practical careers, making it known that they didn't see a novel writer as a plausible career path for him.

“Yes, the draft I've finished is sort of a modern take on traditional fairy tales. It's an idea I came up with as kid, but I didn't quite have the knowledge and vocabulary to write it properly until I was older,” he tells Mrs. Criss.

“Well, that's fascinating. I've always thought that children should have access to literature that doesn't condescend to them. I know when Darren was a child, I'd wind up reading him books meant for older children or even adults more often that not, because they were less dull and repetitive,” Cerina continues.

“Have you submitted your manuscript anywhere yet, Chris?” Bill wonders.

“Oh, no, I haven't and I'm honestly not sure if I'll ever work up the courage to. I wouldn't even know where to begin, to be honest,” Chris shrugs helplessly. For now, having a publisher read his work seems like a pipe dream. Something that would happen for other, more talented writers, but not for him, never for him.

“Well, you really must!” Bill insists. “Sure, there's a fair amount of rejection inherent being a new writer without a book agent, but everyone has to get their big break somewhere. Actually, come to think of it, we have an old family friend who owns a small, regional publishing house. I'm sure he'd read your work and help steer you in the right direction towards a suitable publisher.”

Chris just gapes at him, speechless. Of all the places he'd imagined this lunch going, this wasn't one of them. The fact that Darren's parents have known him for barely five minutes and are already taking his ambitions seriously and trying to help him get his works published is mind-blowing to Chris. He's incredibly flattered, but there's also a strange melancholy that goes along with having a different family do exactly what he's wanted of his parents all along and even make it look  _easy_. If they can do it, why couldn't his own parents?

“Which friend are you talking about, Dad?” Darren asks curiously.

“The Cunninghams – do you remember Joe and Cindy? They had a daughter, Isabelle, I think, who was a few years younger than you,” Bill reminds Darren.

“Oh yeah yeah, I think I know who you mean. I didn't know he was in publishing though – that's awesome! You should totally take him up at that, Chris,” Darren recommends, squeezing Chris's hand under the table.

“Sure, I really appreciate it, Mr. Criss,” he agrees, his heart pounding at the thought of having someone else read what he's written. He's sure they'll rip the manuscript to shreds, but that's okay because it'll give him the chance to improve upon what he's written.

Everyone's head swivels to face Cerina as she claps her hands once excitedly and rises to her feet, exclaiming, “There's my first granddaughter!”

Chris and Darren also stand, watching Lucy and Chuck walk towards them, carrying an infant carrier seat.

While Chuck and Lucy greet Darren's parents with warm hugs, Chris takes a moment just to study Darren's family. Chuck is unmistakably Darren's brother, with the same dark curls and easy grin. He's built much the same too, maybe half an inch shorter than Darren and slightly more wiry, where Darren has a more muscled upper body (inexplicably, given that Darren continues to claim he never works out). Lucy is petite and blonde, sweet-faced and a little shy-seeming. Chris can't quite see Rosemary as the sunshade on the car seat is pulled low, but he hears her happily cooing and babbling to herself.

“So, you must be the famous Chris,” Chuck comments, one arm still wrapped around Darren's back while he looks at Chris appraisingly.

“That's me, I guess?” Chris chuckles. “Hopefully it's fame, not infamy. Never can tell with Darren,” he teases, bumping Darren with his hip.

“Thankfully Darren's bad boy phase was over just as quickly as it started,” Chuck jokes. “It's great to finally meet you,” he adds, reaching out his arms to hug Chris.

“And you as well,” Chris replies as he pulls back.

“This is my wife, Lucy,” Chuck adds, gesturing towards her.

“Hi, Chris,” she says cheerfully and also gives him a short hug. “I apologize for not meeting you sooner. Chuck and I wanted to invite you out to our home in Brooklyn for one of our Sunday lunches, but things have been kind of hectic since the little one made her appearance.”

“Our house is basically just an explosion of baby toys, bottles, and pacifiers, now. Rosemary has officially taken over. I never realized that someone so tiny could make such a massive mess,” Chuck laughs, shaking his head.

“It's not  _that_  bad,” Darren promises.

“Dude, given the state of your college apartment, I'm not sure you'd notice, even if a bomb had gone off in our place,” Chuck jokes.

“Hey, I'll have you know that Joey was mostly to blame for the mess,” Darren says defensively.

“Sure he was. Seems legit,” Chuck answers sarcastically.

“Alright you two, break it up,” Cerina interjects, chuckling. “Let's sit.”

Everyone finds their places at the table. Lucy reaches down and unbuckles Rosemary from her carrier, picking her and holding her on her lap, facing the table. She's got light brown ringlets, pink cheeks, and big blue-grey eyes. She's wearing a pink and blue patterned onesie, with a pink sweater and blue flowered leggings over it for warmth.

It seems like all at once, the entire table erupts in cooing and baby talk. Rosemary looks at all the rapt faces, her eyes wide, and then breaks into a wide grin.

“Aww, that's my girl,” Darren sing-songs proudly. He stands, walking over to Lucy and the baby. “Can I be first to hold her?” he requests. “I need to introduce her to the guest of honor, after all...”

“Of course,” Lucy agrees easily. “I'm sure she's missed her Uncle Darren.” She carefully passes Rosemary over to Darren, who picks her up and sets her on his hip. She reaches down into the diaper bag and retrieves a small burp cloth and a some plastic toy keys which she also hands to Darren. “She's teething right now, so you might need this for the drool,” she explains.

“Is my little Rosie getting her first tooth?” Darren babbles to her, bouncing her in his arms as he walks back to his chair. “You're not supposed to grow up so fast,” he pretend scolds. “You have to stay this little and cute forever, remember our deal?”

Chris watches them together, feeling a swell of pride and how natural Darren is with her. Chris has gone back and forth on whether or not he wants kids, saying it would depend on the person he wound up with and their needs. It seems clear that it's something Darren would want, though, and Chris feels a hard lump in his throat just picturing a little boy or girl with Darren's big hazel eyes and wild curls. Suddenly, the thought of having kids of his own seems possible and desirable, rather than scary, as long as Darren is the one he's starting a family with.

Darren sits down next to Chris, settling Rosemary in his lap. “Rosie, can you say hi to Chris,” he prompts.

“Hi there, cutie,” Chris coos, leaning forward and tickling her stomach. Rosemary squeals happily in response and after a few tries manages to wrap her fist around Chris's index finger,

“Isn't she the cutest thing you've ever seen?” Darren asks him, smiling fondly down at her.

“Definitely,” Chris agrees. “Just look at those cheeks.” Rosemary babbles and makes a gurgling noise. She tugs Chris's finger towards her mouth and tries to chew on it.”

“Silly Rosie, Chris isn't food,” Darren laughs. “Sorry, she puts everything in her mouth these days.”

“Oh, it's fine,” Chris promises.

“Here, why don't you try giving her this to munch on instead?” Darren suggests, handing Chris the toy keyring with rubber, textured keys obviously designed for teething.

Chris takes the toy from him. “Rosie, look,” he calls, shaking the keys in front of her face. She makes an excited noise and clumsily reaches for the keys. It takes her a few attempts before she finally connects with a bright red key and uses her iron grip on it to tug the entire keyring towards her mouth. She shoves the edge of the key into her mouth, gumming at it with an expression of rapt concentration.

“There, isn't that better, Rosie?” Darren asks, bouncing her on his lap for a moment. “Yummy, yummy keys,” he sings. He looks down at her, noticing the puddle of drool on her chin. “Man, your mommy wasn't kidding. Someone's going to Drooltown, huh?”

Chris laughs at the ridiculous turn of phrase. “You're silly,” he says with a fond roll of his eyes while Darren grabs the cloth and wipes at Rosie's mouth and chin.

“Like this is news to you,” Darren shoots back. “Besides, Rosie doesn't seem to mind her Silly Uncle Darren. Right, Rosie-Rose-Rose?” he continues, kissing the top of her head.

Chris beams at Darren, heart melting. When he glances around the table, he sees Darren's parents and Chuck and his wife watching the three of them together and doing much the same. It seems clear that they are imaging the same thing as he had earlier – Darren married to him and with a child of their own. He swallows hard at the thought; it's equal parts overwhelming and exhilarating. Chris manages to avoid full panic mode by reminding himself that he's young and that their domestic future is still likely to be several years off, at a minimum. While it's a lot to consider, something about it just feels  _right_  to Chris.

Chris is pulled from his thoughts about the future when Darren suddenly announces to him, “I really have to pee. Too much delicious iced tea, I guess?” He gestures to his empty glass. Before Chris can even respond, Darren thrusts Rosemary into his arms. “Rosie, will you keep an eye on my boyfriend for me?” he jokes, then stands and hurries off in search of the bathroom.

Chris looks down at Rosie in shock, nervous that she'll start crying when she realizes that she's being held by someone who's practically a stranger to her. But she just makes a contented gurgling noise and rests her head against Chris's chest, happily chewing on her teething keyring. He chances a glance at the rest of the table, noting that Chuck, Lucy, and Darren's father are engrossed in some discussion, huddling together as they talk animatedly. On the other side of the table, Darren's mother is speaking with the waitress about the menu.

“Guess it's just you and me for the moment, kid,” Chris whispers to Rosie. She twists to try to see his face, so Chris slides his hands under her armpits and lifts her up until they are nearly at eye level, facing one another. He supports her with his other arm under her bottom, using his free hand to comb his fingers through her silky curls.

“Hi there, angel,” he coos sweetly. She drops the keys to his lap and squeals happily, breaking out into an ear-to-ear grin. Chris smiles back at her, chuckling when she immediately reaches for him. She pats his cheek several times before predictably grabbing a handful of his hair. “Are you restyling my hair for me?” he asks her with fond amusement, barely even minding when she tugs at it.

“Well, don't you have the cutest smile, sweetheart,” Chris tells her.

“Oh, I don't know. I can think of one another person with a pretty amazing smile,” he hears a familiar voice call out. He looks up to see Darren returning from the bathroom. He leans over and kisses the top of Chris's and Rosie's heads in turn before sitting back down.

“Yikes, I see Rosie's determined to pull out a chunk of your hair too,” Darren winces comically. “She's the reason I'm starting to go bald.”

“Suuuuure she is,” Chris laughs, meaningfully glancing over at Darren's dad's bald head.

“Rude,” Darren pouts. “Want me to rescue you from Rosie's clutches?” he offers, reaching out his hands as if to take her back from Chris.

“How about you just rescue my hair from her iron grip?” he suggests. “I want to hold her a little longer.”

Darren's gaze softens and he swallows hard. Chris wonders if he's imagining the same future that he couldn't stop thinking about earlier. “Deal,” Darren murmurs hoarsely. He gently wraps his hand around Rosemary's fist and pries it open, allowing Chris's hair to slip free. Then, he releases Rosie's hand and smoothes Chris's hair back into place. “There, all better now.”

“Thanks, baby,” Chris responds.

“Anytime.” Darren watches Chris bounce Rosie on his knee, attempting to keep her distracted from his hair. She giggles and clutches his arm.

“It's nice to see my two favorite people in the world getting along so well,” Darren comments, his voice low and fond. “What do you think, Rosie? Is Uncle Chris a keeper?”

“Baabbbaa,” is Rosie's reply, staring up at Darren intently, almost like she's attempting to have a real conversation with him.

Darren nods resolutely, his eyes shining. “Yes, I think so too,” he tells her.

* * *

After Chris meets Darren’s family, things start to get serious fast. Chris is equal parts delighted and relieved when Darren tells him that his parents, brother, and sister-in-law loved him, and the feeling is definitely mutual as the Criss family is as effortlessly charming as Darren. That same evening, they have a long talk about Chris's family and their much more complicated relationship. He explains the horrific bullying he endured as a child at school, and the way his teachers and even his own parents suggested that he was at least partially to blame for it. There were subtle and not-so-subtle hints that his sexuality was the root cause, that Chris should try to blend in instead of sticking out, that he should disguise himself with the athletic clothing the guys at school favored and talk football and hot girls, instead of liberal politics and musicals. It was soul-crushing and downright dangerous, leaving him contemplating self-harm, running away, or simply dropping out of school altogether.

The most painful part was realizing how little of it his parents truly saw, despite it being right under their noses. They'd studiously ignore the unexplained bruises, cuts, and scrapes that became a regular part of Chris's middle and high school existence. Once, a particularly bad incident of being slammed into the lockers led to Chris passing out and an ambulance being called. Chris wound up needing four stitches in his forehead and being diagnosed with a concussion. When his parents arrived at the hospital, they were concerned, but Chris still sensed an undercurrent of frustration and victim blaming. They kept asking what he'd done to merit such awful treatment. When he answered with the truth, that the only thing he'd done was simply exist in general vicinity of the group of jocks that mercilessly bullied him, they seemed almost... suspicious that he was leaving something out, as if there was anything he could have said or done that would merit such awful treatment. Their solution was to homeschool Chris, and while it was a relief to be out of such a toxic environment, he couldn't help but wish they'd even  _tried_  to fight for his right to stay in school and be safe from physical and verbal abuse.

Darren listens to Chris detail the mostly benign neglect his parents showed him growing up with a look of sympathy that quickly morphs into one of concern and finally, anger. He can't stop apologizing for Chris's parents and what he's been put through, furious on his behalf. It's a painful conversation, but also cathartic, the last piece of the puzzle Darren needs to truly understand Chris and who he is.

That night they make love for the first time, Darren beneath him, his legs wrapped about Chris's waist, clinging fiercely. It's slow and halting, every move a gentle caress, their lips locked together almost constantly throughout. It's intense and overwhelming in all the best possible ways, and Chris knows he's never connected with anyone on the same level as he does with Darren that evening. It's every cliché made real, their souls becoming one, the heavens opening, a love so pure and true that it makes Chris dizzy, aching from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. He doesn't know how he ever lived without it, without  _Darren_ , and he prays the day never comes when he has to. Their future seems spread out before them, endless possibilities and potential, and for the first time in his life, Chris cannot wait to see what comes next for him.


	9. Chapter 9

A month later, Chris is cheerfully humming along with the radio when the unthinkable happens. One minute, he's sitting in the back of a cab on his way to surprise Darren with lunch at the hospital, and the next, there's the sickening sound of shrieking brakes and crunching metal and he's being roughly flung forward into the hard plastic divider separating the taxi driver from the passengers in back.  

His heart is thudding in his chest and he's unable to breathe for several seconds after the cab finally comes to an abrupt halt. “Are you okay?” the cab driver asks him. Chris tries to answer, but he's too stunned to even really know. He looks down at himself, taking in the shards of glass now covering his body, too shocked to even register any pain. The cab driver turns his head to peer at him, eyes widening with concern. “Hang on, I'm going to call an ambulance,” he says and then he's turning back around and rummaging through the debris on the floor to find his phone.

It's only then that Chris really starts to panic, imagining horrible disfiguring injuries that will make him hideous and undesirable to anyone, even Darren. He goes to reach up to feel his face and gasps in pain as he tries to turn his hand towards his face. He gingerly lowers his arm back to his lap, looking down and noticing that his right wrist is already swelling.  _Great._

He bites his lip as his wrist continues to throb. He vaguely remembers banging it against the seat in front of him as the cab came to a stop. He slowly, carefully, tests the rest of his limbs one by one, grateful when everything else seems to be in working order. He feels dampness on his cheek and wonders idly if he's started crying without even realizing it. He reaches up to wipe the tears away with his uninjured left hand and is horrified when he removes his hand to see his fingers are smeared with blood. Chris fights his natural urge to hyperventilate at the sight, instead searching the seat for his phone so he can see his face. He'd been in the middle of composing an email when the cab had crashed and it's nowhere to be found at first.

He leans forward, assuming it must have fallen under the seat during the melee, but he's stopped short by his seat belt, which he's insanely grateful he'd been wearing at the time. Still, he can't help but wince with soreness as the seatbelt digs into his tender flesh. He awkwardly undoes the seat belt and runs his hand up and down his chest. He's sure he's going to have a wicked bruise from the seatbelt, but he doubts there's anything more severe to be found, injury-wise. He finally spots his phone underneath the driver's seat, on the opposite side of the cab from where he's sitting. He slides across the backseat, paying special care to avoid the pieces of shattered glass and finally manages to grab his phone. The screen has a large crack down the center now, Chris realizes with a sigh, but thankfully it's still working. He opens the camera app and presses the button to switch to the front-facing camera so he can assess his facial injuries. There's a large gash along his left cheekbone that's streaming blood but everything else appears to be intact. Chris hopes that the cut just looks worse than it is because of the bleeding. He unwinds the scarf from his neck and holds one end of it against his cheek, figuring that's really all he can do for now. It hurts a little, but nowhere near as badly as his wrist.

Chris desperately wants to call Darren but he knows it a bad idea for several reasons: 1) Darren's in the middle of a work shift and Chris doesn't want to get him in trouble for having his phone on, 2) there's really nothing Darren can do besides worry until Chris gets to the hospital, and 3) Chris knows the second he hears Darren's voice, all of this will become real, and he doesn't want to cry or panic now, especially when Darren's not there to make it better.

He lets his head flop back against the headrest, closing his eyes and willing himself to breathe slowly in and out. He can feel the adrenaline still coursing through his body, making his heart to pound and his mouth go dry. Chris's hand shakes as he tries to keep the scarf against his cheek and it's starting to take a lot of willpower not to call Darren. He just needs someone to tell him that it's all going to be okay.

He waits for a several minutes that way, just breathing and trying not to cry and wincing as his wrist and cheek throb in time with his heartbeat. He's relieved when he hears the wail of the ambulance's siren as it pulls up at the scene. He's never been in an ambulance before and he has no desire to start now, but he knows he's got to get to the hospital somehow. It's just the thing that gets him one step closer to Darren, he tells himself. It doesn't mean anything about the severity of his injuries or how worried he should be.

The cab driver is out of the car speaking to a policeman and he must point the paramedics in the right direction because less than a minute later, someone is carefully opening the car door nearest to Chris.

“Hi,” a young woman in an uniform greets Chris, her eyes scanning him as she talks, trying to work out how badly he's injured. “What's your name?”

“Chris,” he replies, cringing at how wobbly his voice sounds. He hates the way that his own body betrays his fear sometimes.

“Hi Chris, I'm Dana. Can you tell me what hurts?”

“My wrist mainly,” he answers, trying to gesture towards his right wrist with his head since his other hand is currently occupied.

“Okay, anywhere else?”

“My cheek,” Chris sighs as he pulls back the scarf so she can see. The cloth sticks to the wound a little and Chris flinches as it tugs at the tender flesh. He's really starting to feel it now.

Dana leans forward to look at his cheek and then starts reaching into her bag for gloves and gauze.

“Is that it?” she asks him as she pulls on a blue glove. “You aren't allergic to latex, are you?” she adds as an afterthought. Chris shakes his head no.

“My chest hurts a little from the seatbelt, but I'm pretty sure it's just bruised,” he finishes. “That's it.”

Dana nods. “Okay, can you look at me?” she requests. Chris does as she asks, wincing as she runs her fingers along the edge of the gash in his cheek. “Pretty deep,” she remarks, more to herself than Chris. “It's probably going to need a few stitches.” She presses several gauze pads over it. “Can you hold that there while I look at your wrist?” Chris reaches up with his good hand to take over and sucks in a sharp breath when Dana covers his hand with hers and presses harder. “Sorry, I know it hurts,” she apologizes, “but you've got to apply more pressure so we can get it to stop bleeding, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris murmurs, closing his eyes to lessen the temptation to cry.

“I'm going to check your wrist. I'll try to be gentle, but...” Dana lets the rest of the sentence trail off, but Chris still knows what to expect next: more pain.

She gingerly prods at his wrist with careful fingers, but it's still incredibly painful. Chris groans once or twice but otherwise bites the inside of his lip to keep from falling apart. “Can you wiggle your fingers for me?” Dana requests.

Chris takes a deep, quivering breath and concentrates on trying to move his middle and index fingers. He gasps in pain as he does it but manages with some difficulty.

“Great,” Dana reassures him. “I'm going to take your vital signs now.”

Chris zones out while she measures his heart rate and blood pressure, too drained to even manage more than a weak nod or grunt in response to her questions.

“You can move your legs okay, right? And you don't think you hit your head or neck or anything like that?” she checks as she gets ready to move Chris.

“No, I – I'm pretty sure I can walk,” Chris assures her, even though he feels a little shaky. He's not willing to go through the indignity of getting strapped to a backboard and rolled out on a gurney. Not when he's capable of walking the short distance to the ambulance.

“Alright,” she says and gestures towards a partner that Chris hadn't noticed until now. “Let's start by having you swing your feet around towards me. Don't try to stand up just yet though,” she directs him. Chris awkwardly scoots towards the edge of the seat and moves his feet until they are planted on the asphalt. Dana takes over holding the gauze on his cheek and suggests that Chris hold his wrist steady while her partner puts an arm around his back and helps haul him to his feet. Chris wobbles a little as he stands but gets his sea legs after a moment.

Chris lets himself be led to the ambulance. He's grateful for the gurney the awaits him once he crawls into the back of it, utterly spent. He lays his head back and closes his eyes, willing the short drive to be as quick and painless as possible. The only thing he bothers to do before the sirens click on again and the ambulance pulls out into traffic is to make sure they are headed to Darren's hospital. They can't get there soon enough, in Chris's opinion.

* * *

Chris is glad that the emergency room appears to be having a slow day. He's heard horror stories from Darren about six hour waits and gunshot or stabbing victims bleeding all over the waiting room or in the ER hallways because there weren't any available beds. But today must be Chris's lucky day, because even though his injuries aren't all that severe, especially in comparison to gunshot or stab wounds, he's still given a room right away and there's a nurse there assessing him almost immediately. He's glad he doesn't have to wait, but he's antsy to text Darren and almost fifteen minutes go by before he's given his first opportunity to do so. By that time, he's been changed into a hospital gown, had his cheek re-bandaged, had x-rays of his wrist taken, and had his (probably) broken wrist put into a splint while they wait for someone to read the x-rays. It's an exhausting whirlwind.

The nurse steps out but promises she'll return soon with a doctor that will give him a more thorough examination. She also mentions something about possibly starting an IV but Chris is really hoping it won't come to that. He's never been a big fan of needles and nothing about having to have surgery last month changed that opinion. Chris still isn't sure how he got through the mandated fourteen days of having blood thinner shots post-surgery. Actually, he does know how he coped and the short answer is Darren. He was a master when it came to distracting Chris while he did the injections, even if that distraction sometimes took the form of extremely profane renditions of Disney songs.

Chris sets his phone on his thigh and gets to work on unlocking it and typing out a text with his left hand. It's awkward and slow going, but he doggedly keeps at it because he just needs Darren with him now.

Chris (12:18 PM): Hey, umm, so don't freak out but I got in minor car accident and I'm downstairs in your ER right now.

Chris holds his breath, praying that Darren sees the text message and responds right away. He's not really supposed to have his phone on during his shift and he's certainly not supposed to have it out so he can check it often. But Darren's charge nurse has already been thoroughly charmed by him so she usually leaves him to his own devices, seldom commenting on his minor rule violations like cell phone use, Chris figures he'll give him a few minutes to respond before he resorts to calling him, if necessary.

Darren (12:21 PM): WHAT? ARE YOU OKAY?

That's all it takes for Chris to burst into tears. He sniffles as he types out a response one handed.

Chris (12:21 PM): I'll be fine but is there any way you can come down, at least for a few minutes?

Darren (12:22 PM): Of course. I'm on my way.

* * *

“Chris!” Darren calls out as he bursts into his treatment room a few minutes later, his movements both frantic and dazed. He's across the room as quick as lightning and peering at him with wide eyes. He cups Chris's uninjured right cheek and kisses his forehead. Then he's pulling back to look at him with a searching gaze. “I'm okay, I'm okay,” Chris promises him.

Darren shakes his head and swallows hard as he looks at Chris's bandaged left cheek and the small specks of blood already seeping through the center of the white gauze. He slides his fingers under Chris's jaw and carefully tilts his face up so he can study the injury. He strokes his thumb just underneath the bandaged area, infinitely gentle, as if Chris is made of porcelain and he's scared to break him.

Then Darren's scanning the rest of Chris's body. He catches sight of Chris's splinted right wrist resting on a pillow. “Is it broken?” he asks worriedly.

“I don't know yet. They just did x-rays,” Chris replies.

Darren winces and bites his lip. “Does it hurt?” Chris can only nod in response.

Darren's face darkens and then he's continuing to look Chris over carefully, seeming terrified that there's something more serious lurking beneath the surface. But Chris can't help but be shocked by what he does next, as he tugs at neck of the hospital gown they'd forced Chris to put on.

“Darren, what?” Chris gasps. “I'm fine, there's nothing else,” he tries to reassure him, even as Darren unties the neck of the gown so he can look at Chris's chest.

“Shh,” Darren silences him as he stares, almost angrily, at the already purpling bruise from the seat belt that spans Chris's torso. He strokes a finger along his collarbone, causing Chris to shiver. When he finally looks back up at Chris, his eyes are filled with unshed tears.

“I'm okay,” Chris says again, thinking that maybe Darren just needs to keep hearing it until he finally believes it.

“You're not,” Darren whispers and Chris notices for the first time just how badly his hands are shaking. Chris takes a moment to imagine how he'd feel if he'd been the one getting the text or call that Darren was in the emergency room and a completely involuntary shudder runs through his body.

“I will be,” Chris tries instead. “Why don't you sit down?” he suggests, patting the bed next to him.

Darren nods and perches gingerly on the edge of the gurney. Chris reaches for him with his one good arm and Darren lets himself be led into the embrace. He rests his head against Chris's shoulder so gently, treating him like he's as fragile as a baby bird. Chris tries to project a strength he's not sure he still has in him as he holds Darren, just waiting until he inevitably breaks.

“God Chris, I was so scared,” Darren's voice is hushed in Chris's ear. “I thought... I didn't know. I was terrified that you were going to be really hurt. I don't think I could bear it if anything ever happened to you. If anything worse...” he trails off and Chris can feel Darren's tears starting to dampen his neck now.

“But it didn't. I'm here and I'm going to be fine, okay?” he reassures him. “It was just a stupid fender bender. A few stitches, maybe a cast, and I'll be right as rain,” Chris tries to keep his voice light but he's also aware of how lucky he is, how lucky they both are.

“Move in with me,” Darren says out of nowhere, making Chris wonder if he'd misheard him. It's absolutely the last thing he'd been expecting to hear.

“What?” Chris gasps in shock. “Are you serious?”

Darren pulls back so Chris can see him. “I've never been more serious about anything in my life.”

“But why here? Why now?” Chris asks before he can stop himself. “If this is because I got hurt, Darren, it's not a big deal. I'm not dying and I'm sure I'll be able to handle taking care of myself, even with a broken wrist. You don't have to-”

Darren silences him with a kiss. It's desperate and needy and a little salty from the tears mixed in, but the one thing it's not is unsure. It's just like coming home.

“I want you. This isn't just about today or what happened. It's something I've been thinking about for awhile. I know I move fast and that can sometimes scare the guys I'm dating, and I desperately didn't want to scare you off by suggesting we move in together too soon. You're too important to me to fuck it up. But today just made me realize how much I care for you and how I don't want to waste any more time without you in my life. I want to go to sleep with you every night and wake up to your face every morning. I want to bring you breakfast in bed and cook fancy dinners that require me to watch the Food Network and buy weird spices from Whole Foods that I've never heard of before. I want to come home from work after a really hard shift and know that you'll be there waiting if I need to talk or if I want to not talk and just watch terrible reality TV instead. I want to stay up way too late talking to you about our hopes and dreams for the future and cheesy shit like that, and then I want to make it up to you by surprising you with your favorite coffee from Starbucks the next morning. I want  _us_. I want a life together and I don't want to wait another minute for it. Because life is short, my job teaches me that every day, and today taught me that too,” Darren finishes in a rush, chest heaving. “I love you, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris echoes, overwhelmed by all the twists and turns today has already taken despite it being barely noon. “I love you too,” he adds, still dazed. Darren's looking at him like he's the most important thing in the world, like he's the  _only_ thing in the world, and all Chris's doubts and fears and what ifs just... fall by the wayside. “Let's move in together.”


	10. Epilogue

“Whew, I think that's the last of it,” Darren announces as he shuts the apartment door behind the mover. He surveys the open concept living room, dining room, and kitchen, the floor littered with boxes containing their shared things. All of them need to be unpacked and put away; Darren's overwhelmed at the thought of how much they still have to do.

“Come sit with me for a minute,” Chris calls from the couch, slumped over with his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“With pleasure,” Darren groans. He snags his bottle of water off the breakfast bar and then trudges to the couch, flopping down onto it next to Chris. He unscrews the lid from the water and downs half the bottle in three long gulps.

“Tired yet?” Chris asks with obvious amusement.

“Fucking exhausted, more like,” he sighs as he sets the water on the coffee table.

“Oh, that's too bad, because I was about to suggest that we properly christen the new apartment,” Chris all but purrs, eyes dark and sparkling with mirth. “But if you're too tired...”

“You didn't tell me sex on every available surface in our new place was an option,” Darren practically growls. “I'm never too tired for that.”

“Glad to hear it,” Chris hums, smiling wickedly. He leans forward and grabs the water, holding the side of the bottle against his flushed cheek. Darren watches a water droplet from the condensation on the surface of the bottle slowly trickle down Chris's cheek and jaw and licks his lips unconsciously.

Darren suddenly launches himself forward, sucking the water droplet from Chris's neck and then tracing that same path back up Chris's neck and jaw with his tongue. Darren sits back on heels for a minute and quickly tugs Chris's tank top over his head, exposing warm, flushed skin.

Chris's eyes flutter shut as he lets his head flop back against the arm of the couch. He spreads his legs wide, giving Darren space to crawl between them as he kisses a track down his sweaty, salt-tinged chest and belly. When Darren reaches the waistband of Chris's shorts, he eagerly tugs them down and off. Chris's boxers follow soon behind, tossed carelessly over the back of the couch, leaving a fully nude Chris lounging on the couch beneath him.

Chris moans, long and low as Darren encourages him to full hardness with his hand. The guttural moans echo loudly through the mostly empty space. When Darren finally sinks his mouth over the length of his cock, Chris gasps audibly and reaches down to grab a handful of Darren's hair. He can't imagine a better way to christen their new apartment and start this next adventure together.

* * *

“So, what do you think – does this feel like home to you yet?” Darren asks an hour later, heart still racing as he comes down from his orgasm. He hops off the kitchen counter, where Chris had  _finally_  deigned to fuck him after nearly an hour of tortuous, yet blissful teasing in every room of their apartment. He finds his clothing scattered across the living room and tugs his briefs and sweatpants up over his hips, not bothering with a shirt.

“No, it's not home,” Chris replies cryptically.

“It's not? What's missing?” Darren frowns, scanning the room for something they might have misplaced during the move.

“This apartment isn't my home.  _You_  are my home, honey. We could live in a cardboard box underneath a highway overpass, but as long as you were there with me, I'd be home.”

“Chris,” Darren manages in a hushed, reverent whisper. He swallows hard, eyes shining. “You're my home too.”

Chris smiles softly. “I love you.”

“And I love you too, more than you'll ever know,” he replies instantly. “Now, moving on to the next big question...”

“Oh yeah, what's that?”

“May I have this dance,” Darren requests, holding out a hand.

“A dance? But there's no music,” Chris points out.

“Baby, I make my  _own_  music,” Darren practically purrs.

“In that case, I thought you'd never ask,” Chris agrees, taking Darren's hand.

Darren pulls Chris to him, wrapping an arm around Chris's waist. Chris winds his arms around Darren's neck and rests his chin on Darren's shoulder.

Darren begins to sing quietly in Chris's ear as he guides them in a slow, lazy circle around the empty space that will soon be their living room. Chris sighs with contentment, swaying to the gentle music Darren is making, knowing that he's truly home.

_If you're out on the road_  
_Feeling lonely and so cold_  
_All you have to do is call my name_  
_And I'll be there on the next train_  
  
_Where you lead, I will follow_  
_Anywhere that you tell me to_  
_If you need, you need me to be with you_  
_I will follow where you lead_

It takes Chris a moment to place the familiar song, but once he does, his eyes well with happy tears. It summarizes everything he's feeling as he embarks on this next chapter with Darren, and to Chris, the words feel just like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a fic I've been slaving over since mid-March and I still can't believe it's finally complete. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you wanted to take a second and leave me a comment to let me know what you thought of the fic, you'll absolutely make my day. 
> 
> I'm toying with idea of writing more in this verse, be it shorter oneshots or a sequel. If you want to send me a prompt in that vein, you can reach me [here](http://lovetheblazer.tumblr.com/ask).
> 
> Finally, if you'd like to share this fic on Tumblr, please do so by reblogging my original post which can be found [here](http://lovetheblazer.tumblr.com/post/128067943280/where-you-lead-i-will-follow).


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